


The Quickening

by Bunnywest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All the ladies love Stiles, And Stiles and Peter want to give them to him, But not how you think, Chris Argent deserves nice things, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Explicit Sexual Content, Intersex Stiles Stilinski, Is it mpreg if Stiles is intersex? In which case kinda mpreg, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Polyamory, Pregnancy, Sort Of, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-09 15:31:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15270573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: With his father finally passing away the previous year, Chris is the undisputed ruler of his kingdom. His people are devoted to him, his lands are prosperous and peaceful, and he has his lovers. It’s almost perfect.Almost. It's greedy to wish for more.*********Life is good, and Stiles is happy, mostly.  But he’s also observant, and he sees the way Chris lights up when Heather the cook hands the king her newest grandchild to hold.  And Stiles has to admit, watching Chris with the child, it stirs a yearning deep within him, one he didn’t know he had.Stiles wants a child.Lucky he knows how to get one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vMures](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vMures/gifts).



> This is a sequel to [Mage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14962712)  
> There was mention of an heir in the comments, and my brain just...went there.  
> So here, vMures. I blame you for this.

 

Lower Beacon is thriving. After the king defended the kingdom’s borders, Deucalion reassessed his alliance with Kate. He invaded her and overran her kingdom in a matter of weeks. Kate’s defenses were sorely lacking, and it was an easy victory. Deucalion sent word to Chris proposing a peace treaty, and even though his kingdom was already safe, Chris accepted on one condition - that Kate not be killed. ”You can lock her up for her crimes, she deserves it,” he told Deucalion, “But you don’t harm her.”  Deucalion agreed, aware that if Chris chose to he could destroy Deucalion completely – word had spread fast about the powerful Mage protecting the kingdom.

Chris had no desire to take back his sister’s lands, and the last he heard, she was languishing in the dungeons while she tried to convince Deucalion to take her as his queen. Deucalion had so far politely declined her offer, and was doing a far better job of ruling than Kate ever did.

With his father finally passing away the previous year, Chris is the undisputed ruler of his kingdom. His people are devoted to him, his lands are prosperous and peaceful, and he has his lovers.

It’s almost perfect.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles  has established himself as a favorite in the kingdom in the three years  he’s been there. He lives at the palace, but he comes and goes as he pleases, spending a lot of his time among the people. They were shy at first, cautious of his magic, and then hesitant to ask for his help. But somehow, Stiles seems to know what they need, and he’s more than happy to use his power to their benefit.  Over time, it becomes common knowledge that if the Mage can help you, he will. 

He’s particularly popular with the women, and not just because of his mischievous smirk and pretty eyes.  Stiles is willing to help them in ways that Deaton, the only other mage in the kingdom, isn’t. Deaton is of the opinion that women should accept children, or the lack of them, as their lot in life.He dismisses any ailments concerning their monthly courses as _just nature's way_. He says that it’s not his place to intervene in the natural order of things.

Stiles, on the other hand, thinks that’s a crock, and he expresses his views loudly and often.  “Of course it’s my place to intervene – that’s _literally_ the point of magic, to mess with the order of things!”

And suddenly, the young wives who want to fall pregnant start to seek him out. So do the wives who don’t want any more children, can’t afford an unexpected _happy event,_ but don’t want to relegate their husbands to the spare room either. Stiles helps them all, with a soft smile, a reassuring word, and a combination of  magic and medicinal herbs, and he never judges them for their choices. The women adore him, and lament the fact that he’s taken. Otherwise, they joke, they’d keep him for themselves, pretty young thing that he is.

Life is good, and Stiles is happy, mostly.  But he’s also observant, and he sees the way Chris lights up when Heather the cook hands the king her newest grandchild to hold.  And Stiles has to admit, watching Chris with the child, it stirs a yearning deep within him, one he didn’t know he had.

Stiles wants a child.

Lucky he knows how to get one.

* * *

 

 

Stiles drags himself out of bed one Sunday shortly before noon and starts to dress while Chris and Peter stay where they are. Chris stops kissing Peter long enough to ask, ”Where are you going?”

“Baby day,” Stiles replies as he ties his formal robes. Chris remembers that it’s the first Sunday of the month. It’s somehow become tradition for Stiles to cast a blessing on any newborns, should the parents wish it. Of course, they all do, and he knows that when Stiles goes down to the courtyard in front of the palace, there will be a small crowd gathered. Stiles will take each child and whisper a blessing for protection, health and long life over them.

Chris says, “Wait. I’ll come with you.” Stiles raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t say no. Chris kisses Peter once more before getting up and dressing quickly. He’s gotten into the habit of accompanying Stiles, and although the parents are happy to see him and show him their babies, he knows they’re really there for Stiles.

Peter rolls back over onto his stomach, and mumbles, ”You two go and see the babies. I’m going back to sleep -s _omeone_ kept me awake last night with a cock in my ass.”

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time, sweetheart,” Chris replies with a smirk. Stiles is waiting at the door, and Chris joins him, leaving Peter sprawled in the bed, already drifting off. Chris really did work him hard last night.

When they get downstairs, it’s right on noon, and there are a number of couples waiting with their newborns. Stiles seems to know most of them, exchanging a greeting as he takes the babies in his arms, blowing raspberries on their bellies, exclaiming to their parents how perfect they are, before kissing them on the forehead and whispering the charm that will keep them safe and healthy. The fact that Chris is with him draws a pleased murmur, and Chris finds himself being handed the babies after Stiles has blessed them. He draws them close, inhaling that pure, clean scent that only infants seem to possess, and smiles a little wistfully. He knows he’ll never have this, and he’s okay with it. He has Peter and Stiles. He’ll adopt a child in a few years. It’s enough. He already has so much, it would be greedy to wish for more.

Stiles is watching him carefully. He hands the last baby back to her mother after pressing a kiss to the infant’s forehead, and seems to come to a decision. “Come with me. We need to talk.” Chris looks up at him quickly, worried, but Stiles smiles and says. “Nothing bad, I promise.”

As they walk up the stairs, Stiles says “This concerns Peter as well.”  Chris nods, and Stiles leads him to the bedroom, where Peter is still in bed.  Stiles kisses him, and says “Wake up, sleepyhead.” Peter cracks an eyelid, and looks like he’s about to protest, but something in Stiles’ expression has him out of bed and dressed in minutes. Stiles sits cross legged in the floor, the way he does when he ‘s nervous and needs to relax.

“You know I love you both,” he starts. Chris and Peter both nod.  “So, there’s something I haven’t told either of you. I haven’t told anyone, before now. The only other people who knew were my parents.” He’s rambling a little, but both Peter and Chris know better than to interrupt him when he’s like this. He’ll get to the point in his own time. “Anyway, I just want you to know I didn’t keep this secret for any reason other than I’ve _always_ kept it secret.”

“Part of your camouflage?” Chris asks softly.

Stiles nods in agreement, and Chris can see some of the tension leave his face. “Exactly. And up until now, it hasn’t been relevant. But now, I think it’s time you knew. I’m one of the Both- blessed.”

Chris looks at him, open-mouthed, trying to process the fact that his lover is one of those rare few men who are able to carry a child. The Both-blessed, as they’re called, are revered throughout the kingdoms. “You’re Both – blessed? How? I mean, surely we would have noticed.”

Stiles shrugs. “Camouflage. A spell. But it means we could have a child, and you’d have an heir.”

“How did you…” he starts to ask, before he shuts his mouth with a snap. Because of course Stiles knows. It’s Stiles, and he’s always been far too perceptive.  

Stiles smiles softly. “It wasn’t hard to figure out. You’ve been making cow eyes at every baby you’ve seen for the past three months. Which is why I’m telling you that if you wanted me to, I’d be happy to carry a child. _Our_ child.”

Chris doesn’t know what to say. He never imagined it would be possible for him to be a father.  Stiles is looking at him intently, a nervous expression on his face.. “Are you angry I kept this a secret?” Stiles asks at last, when Chris still hasn’t replied.

“Angry? No, sweetheart, never. I’m more stunned than anything,” Chris answers honestly. Stiles still looks unsure, so Chris  kneels on the floor next to him, murmuring “You’re amazing, baby,” and pulling him in for a long, passionate kiss.

“Does that mean you’d like me to have your baby?” Stiles asks when Chris finally pulls back.

“Please,” Chris says, his voice breaking just a little. Stiles wraps his arms around Chris’ neck and cradles him close, neither of them saying anything. After a few minutes, Chris lifts his head and looks at Peter, who’s sitting in one of the comfy chairs. “Peter? Would you be okay with it?”

 Peter rolls his eyes that Chris would ever think otherwise. “I think it sounds perfect. You’ve been pining for months, Christopher, and if Stiles is willing to do this, you should go ahead. Luckily, you two will have me around to make sure you don’t spoil the child rotten.”

Peter gives Chris an encouraging nod, and Chris feels something loosen in his chest. He didn’t think it would be a problem, but he’d never go ahead without including Peter in the decision. ”You’d really do this for me?” Chris asks Stiles.

Stiles shakes his head. “No. But I’d do it for us. To be honest, all the babies have rubbed off on me as well. I never thought this was something I’d want, but I do, with you.”

Chris can’t wipe the smile off his face.

Peter  leans forward in his seat then, expression keen. “Stiles, are you telling me you’ve been hiding a sweet little cunny from  us all this time?”

Stiles nods, grinning. “Never needed it before now.”

“What a delicious thought. I hope you realize that once you’re pregnant with the royal child, I expect to be allowed to sample that particular delight?” Peter purrs.

Stiles’ grin widens. “The thing with Both-blessed is, when we’re pregnant, we’re insatiable. It will take both of you to keep me satisfied.”

Chris groans. “God, sweetheart. Just the thought of you with a baby belly. You’ll be gorgeous.”

Stiles huffs a little. “I’m gorgeous now, thank you. When I’m pregnant I’ll be _incandescent._ ”

 Peter looks at the two them and shakes his head fondly. “Gods, your children will be pretty. They’ll have the best of both of you, I’m sure.”

Chris looks at Stiles with affection. “I don’t care if they look like a pumpkin, to be honest. They’ll be mine.“

Stiles snorts at that. “Oh please, as if this child will be anything less than perfect. We have magic on our side, remember?”

“Excuse me, but I think you’re both missing the important issue here,” Peter says. Chris and Stiles both look up at him, confused. “You have a quim, Stiles, _and I haven’t seen it yet._ ” Peter stands and stalks over to where Stiles is sitting, and kneels next to him, nuzzling against his throat. “I bet you’re so pretty down there, bet you’ll smell so good, taste so nice on my tongue. When can I see it?”

Stiles tilts his head back with a tiny sigh, and lets Peter kiss down the column of his neck and bite sharply against his collarbone, something that never fails to reduce him to  a shivering wreck. His voice is high pitched as he whines out, “Now. You can see it now.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles strips off his clothes and lays down on his back, legs spread wide.  Peter’s there in an instant, but just for once, Chris pulls rank and stands in his way. “Royal prerogative” he states firmly, and ignores Peter’s pout.

Stiles laughs softly, before drawing Chris to lie next to him and relegating Peter back to the chair next to the bed. “Stop pouting,” he scolds. “Chris is right, you can wait. ” He takes Chris’ hand and draws it down between his legs. “I’ve kept this hidden with a concealment charm.”  

Stiles closes his eyes and mutters something under his breath, at the same time as he presses Chris’ fingers against the skin behind his scrotum.  Chris feels the flesh soften and _change_ under his hand. He rubs his finger along what feels like a split in the flesh, and Stiles lets out a gasp.  Stiles presses his hand against the back of Chris’, guides him to press a little harder. Chris feels the flesh part beneath his fingertip, and a finger slips inside, into moist heat. Chris curses, and slides his finger in a little deeper. Stiles laughs breathlessly, saying “Oh, that feels _weird._ ”

His breath hitches as Chris moves his finger carefully in and out a few times.  Stiles moans, and rocks his hips up as Chris works two fingers inside, feeling the soft velvety folds encase him. He only stops when Stiles clamps a hand firmly on his wrist, whimpering a little. When Chris finally takes his hand away his fingers are wet, and there’s an opening where he knows for a fact there wasn’t one before.

“Beautiful,” Chris breathes. He looks over to Peter, and sees he’s almost vibrating with impatience. “Gods, you’re like a child,’ he says, affection evident in his voice. Chris glances at Stiles, who’s grinning widely. “Shall we show him yet, or make him wait?” Peter shoots Chris a filthy look, and Stiles laughs at the pair of them.

Stiles opens his arms wide for Peter. “Get over here, you.” Peter obeys eagerly.  Chris watches as Stiles guides Peter’s hand carefully downwards and his fingers sink deep inside, drawing a groan from Stiles. “Gentle,” Stiles cautions. “It’s sensitive.”

Peter licks his fingertips, and lets out a soft groan. “Please tell me I can get my mouth on that sweet little honeypot, darling?”

Chris isn’t surprised in the least when Stiles agrees – Peter’s always been partial to using his tongue, and he’s very, very good with it.  Chris settles himself behind Stiles, wrapping his arms around him and rubbing a thumb across his nipples, earning a shiver. Stiles leans back into his chest, and looks down at Peter, biting his lip. “Just, start slow? It’s … everything’s new.”

Peter cups Stiles’ face in one hand, and the care is evident on his face when  he says, “I will, I promise. Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” He moves down the bed and settles himself between Stiles’ legs, lifting them and draping them over his shoulders. “Oh my, this _is_ pretty,” he coos. “Already nice  and wet for me. Let’s see if we can make you drip, shall we?”

Chris holds Stiles firm, teasing his nipples, kissing the back of his neck, all the while telling him how perfect he is, how much he loves him. The position’s a familiar one for them, even if everything else is new, and Chris can feel it when the tension leaves Stiles’ shoulders. That’s when Chris looks down and catches Peter’s eye, nodding subtly.

Peter takes his time, is as careful as he promised he’d be. He starts with gentle breaths against the newly exposed flesh,  before running just the tip of one finger around the petal like folds, a barely there touch that makes Stiles squirm. Peter  applies tiny kitten licks to the soft skin, starting at the edge and working his way in, slowly increasing the pressure and intensity as he goes. He stops occasionally to breathe out tiny declarations of worship, little moments of _lovely, delicious, wonderful,_ and Chris can feel Stiles relax further under Peter’s touch and his praise. Stiles’ breathing is speeding up, his hips are twitching, and he’s sporting an impressive erection. Peter chuckles wickedly, and presses his tongue inside of Stiles, making him jolt and whine. “Do that again,” Stiles demands breathlessly, and Peter does so happily.

He starts to work Stiles over in earnest, plunging his tongue in deep while Stiles squirms and begs and rolls his hips as he chases more. Peter lifts his mouth away and Chris can see where his chin’s shiny with slick. Peter brings a hand between Stiles’s legs and begins to fuck into him with his fingers, steady and sure, and Chris watches, fascinated, as Stiles’ cock bobs and twitches and leaks, until finally Peter takes Stiles’ length in his mouth and swallows him down. Stiles’ eyes fly open and he gasps. His hands fly out and clutch the back of Peter’s head, holding him in place.  Stiles hisses out “ _fuck, fuck, fuck!_ ” and thrusts up into Peter’s mouth wildly. It’s a matter of moments before he’s coming with a shout, and Chris can see Peter’s throat working as he swallows.

Peter lifts his head, grinning. He swipes a finger over Stiles’ cunt and holds it up, looking at the clear liquid with unmistakable satisfaction. “Told you I’d make you drip,” he says smugly.

Stiles laughs, a high breathless thing that’s dangerously close to a giggle. “ You did,” he agrees.

* * *

 

 

It takes Stiles a few minutes to recover enough to move, and Chris just enjoys the sight of him, breathless and limp. He’s hard, and the steady warmth of Stiles’ body is pleasant against his erection, but there’s no urgency to it. Peter’s still settled between Stiles legs, and Stiles doesn’t seem to mind. Eventually though, Stiles reaches down and shoves at Peter’s shoulder in an effort to get his attention. Peter’s eyes snap up to meet his, and Stiles make a vague motion that Chris translates as _move._

Peter props himself up on his knees, and he’s hard as well. Stiles presses back against Chris’ erection, nodding to himself. “I was going to ask if this wasn’t a turnoff for you both, but, well.”  He pulls himself out of Chris’ grasp, gets out of bed, and wraps his robes around himself.

“Where are you going, darling? We’ve barely started,” Peter protests. Chris has to agree.

Stiles points at Chris. “You,” he begins, “Need to drink the tea I’m going to give you, twice a day for three days. It increases fertility and stamina. I’ll drink one that increases the chances of pregnancy and increases my arousal. And after that, we’ll make a baby.”

He points at Peter. “Peter, you know I love you, but you don’t get to come near me with your dick out until I’ve well and truly caught.”  

Peter’s expression is akin to that of a small child who’s dropped his ice cream cone. “But why?” he whines. “You know I wouldn’t do anything - “

Stiles cuts him off. “I know you wouldn’t _mean_ to, but the problem isn’t you. It’s me. I’ll want you inside, and then we’ll convince each other it’ll be fine, because we both have no self-control, and god knows I love your cock. And I can’t have that happen. So, I’ll move back into my rooms, and Chris can come to me. I’m sorry, but it’s for the best.”

Peter’s silent for a moment, but in the end he says, “You’re right, of course. I’m desperate to get inside you, and I’d find it too hard to resist at least trying. And the one thing we can’t do is muddy the waters of paternity.”

Stiles nods his agreement. “So, I’m gonna go and take a nap and a bath and recover from the best orgasm of my life, and you two can fuck each other stupid. Chris, I’ll send the tea up later today. Twice a day, without fail.”

He comes over and kisses them both, and it takes all Chris’ willpower not to pin him to the bed then and there. “Are you sure we have to wait three days?”  he asks lowly, voice husky with want.

Stiles grins. “We don’t have to wait three days. But we do have to wait till tonight, at least. I’m tender, and I don’t think I can take anyone touching me right now. So like I said, nap for me, and you can come over tonight, Your Hotness.”  Chris rolls his eyes at the nickname, but he can’t deny he’s looking forwards to tonight.

Stiles kisses them both once more on the forehead in a way that’s reminiscent of blessing the babies, and takes his leave. Peter watches him go, and turns to Chris with a gleam in his eye. “Tell me, sweetheart. Were you as turned on by that as I was?”

“Oh gods, yes.” Chris strokes his hard cock.

Peter hums. He presses Chris down against the bed, straddling him. “ I’m going to fuck you now, nice and slow, and you’re going to take everything I give you. It’s the least you can do, seeing as you get to have Stiles.”

“That seems fair,” Chris agrees, as if he’s doing Peter a massive favor, and isn’t desperate to be fucked at all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the end of two weeks, Chris has dark rings under his eyes, his normally perfect beard needs a trim, and Peter’s refused to sleep with him for over a week now. “I never thought I’d say this darling, but please, can you not fuck me? One of us needs to be in a fit state to run the kingdom, and lord knows, neither you nor Stiles are.”   
> Peter has a point. Due to the concoction Stiles dosed them with, both Stiles and Chris are in a constant state of arousal, and Peter packed them off to the royal bedroom together a week ago after he caught Chris fucking Stiles in a hallway closet, ignoring his pitiful explanation that they "just couldn’t wait, Peter, you don’t understand." He had the effrontery to laugh at their disheveled state, but he also told everyone they’re to be left alone, and has been keeping things afloat while they spend the days and nights making love.

 

The tea tastes like rotted mushrooms and dirt and something indescribably bitter, but Chris drinks it anyway, grimacing as he gulps it down. He knows Stiles wouldn’t ask him to take it if it wasn’t needed, but still. It burns going down, and makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Peter watches him as he shudders involuntarily when the aftertaste hits him. “I’m guessing that’s particularly unpleasant, judging from the look on your face,” he observes.

Chris screws up his nose. “It tastes like boiled assholes.”

Peter’s laughs but his voice is warm as he says, “Worth it though, for an heir.”  

Chris can’t help the smile that creeps across his face at the mere thought of it. “It really is,” he says softly.  “I still can’t believe that Stiles is both-blessed.”

Peter quirks a brow. “That man is full of surprises. And I can’t deny that I’m a little jealous that you get to have him all to yourself, at least at first. Are you going to see him tonight?”

Chris nods. “I’m nervous,” he admits. “It’s not what I’m used to, and I want to make it good for him.”

Peter folds his arms across his chest. “Christopher Argent, I taught you everything you know in bed, and I’m an excellent teacher. Of course you’ll make it good for him – you always do.” Chris takes a deep breath. Peter’s right, of course. He’s good at pleasing Stiles, and their physical relationship is easy and satisfying. Chris knows Stiles’ body almost as well as he knows Peter’s and his own by now.

Peter strides across the room and snags him for a kiss, but after a few seconds he pulls back with a disgusted look. “Oh lord, that really does taste foul. Maybe I’m not jealous after all if you have to drink that twice a day.” Chris laughs, his nervousness leaving him. Peter slaps him sharply on the ass, and says, “Go see our boy, and afterwards you can come and tell me all about it. I want every detail, mind.”

Chris fixes him with a stern look. “Excuse me? Is that any way to treat your king?”

Peter’s completely unrepentant. “I happen to know that my king likes a good spanking every now and then, so don’t even front with me, Christopher. Now go and knock Stiles up. The sooner he’s pregnant, the sooner I can get in there too.”

Chris sputters in mock outrage, but he goes. It’ll be fine. It’s Stiles, after all. 

 

* * *

 

Stiles is waiting for him, and just like the first time they came together, he hands Chris a glass of wine. “How was the tea?” he asks, suppressing a smile.

“Awful and you know it,” Chris grumbles. Stiles’ lips twitch and he struggles to keep a straight face.

“If it makes you feel better, mine’s just as bad.” Stiles nods to an empty cup. 

Chris walks over and picks it up, sniffing. His eyes water at the lingering scent, and he puts it down quickly. “Do we really need the tea? Isn’t there a spell or something instead?”

Stiles shakes his head. ”This is the best way, trust me. It will boost your fertility and stamina, and make me nice and ready for you.” He finishes his wine, and extends a hand. “Ready?”

Chris puts his glass aside, pulling Stiles in for a long, slow kiss. He lets his hand trace down Stiles’ side, sneaking up under his shirt and massaging the soft skin of his belly. Stiles responds eagerly, tangling his hands in Chris’ hair and holding him in place. Chris lets himself get caught up in the heat and hunger that he’s feeling, and before he knows it Stiles is steering him back towards the bed.

Stiles undoes Chris’ trousers and pushes them down, and helps Chris out of his shirt, before pressing him back onto the mattress. Chris lets himself get manoeuvred onto the bed, and watches as Stiles strips off his own shirt and trousers.  He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how gorgeous Stiles looks naked, all lean muscle and fascinating swirls of dark ink. Stiles climbs onto the bed with him, straddling Chris and spending time just kissing him, running his hands over his firmly muscled chest.  He grinds down subtly, and Chris feels himself starting to harden. He lays a hand on Stiles’ hip, stilling him for a moment.  Stiles looks at him, curious.  “Are you sure you want to do this, Stiles?”

He’s not just talking about the sex.

Stiles shakes his head fondly. “When are you going to learn, highness, that sometimes,  the people who love you actually _want_ you to be happy?”  He lays down and stretches his body out next to Chris’. “Now how about you come over here and we play a little, figure out what we’re doing? Call it a test run,” he smirks. Chris hesitates, just for a moment, but then Stiles takes his hand and places it between his legs, and Chris can feel the wetness there. “I promise I’m really sure, Chris.”

Chris groans at the way his fingers slip and slide, and his arousal grows. “Let me make this good for you, baby,” he husks out, and Stiles grins widely. 

Chris takes him to bed, and he makes it good.

With Stiles guiding him every step of the way, Chris explores. He slides his fingers over silky soft flesh, exploring the slickness and drawing little gasps and groans from Stiles. It's tight when he slides a single digit inside, but he finds that Stiles stretches to accommodate two fingers and then three easily, almost as if his body is inviting Chris in. Chris is fascinated by the amount of liquid that’s there, and he rubs a thumb through it, spreading it along Stiles’ inner thigh. “You’re so wet, baby. Is that normal?” he asks, something like wonder in his voice.

“It is if you’re doing it right. Cunts are messy things, generally,” Stiles assures him with a soft laugh. “Now get your cock in me, I want to feel you properly.” Chris doesn’t need to be asked twice. He places the head of his cock at Stiles’ entrance, and eases forward. It’s so soft, different to what he’s used to, and a shudder runs through him. He presses in deeper, and the slick, velvety heat intensifies around him. Stiles lets out a gasp when he bottoms out, and Chris stills.

“It’s good, keep going,” Stiles says, rocking his hips a little. Chris pulls almost all the way out and drives back in and fuck, he’s not going to last, the sensations are overwhelming. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, moist and plush and hot around his cock. He sinks in easily, and can’t help the guttural sounds he makes as he grinds in deep. “ _Fuuuck_ ,”  he groans, and Stiles answers with a breathless “ _Uh huh_.”

Stiles pulls Chris closer as their hips rock together, and he murmurs in his ear, “Want it to feel _really_ good?” Chris chokes out a moan as Stiles clenches around the length of his cock, and the sudden tightness is almost too much. Chris can feel Stiles’ mouth curve up into a grin against his neck as he does it again the next time Chris thrusts forward,  and then it really is too much, and Chris’ orgasm slams through him like a tidal wave. He comes deep inside Stiles, can feel his body pumping out ropes of come as Stiles continues to tighten around him, clenching rhythmically.

Chris is panting and breathless and more than a little embarrassed – the last time he came that fast was as a teenager, with Peter’s mouth wrapped around him for the first time. He pulls away from Stiles’ persistent kisses for a moment, trying to catch his breath. “That was…I blame witchcraft,” he says finally.

Stiles laughs delightedly. “It wasn’t witchcraft, but I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Chris pulls out slowly, and Stiles hisses between his teeth. He’s still hard, and Chris wastes no time in wrapping a hand around his cock and starting to work it. He’s gratified to see that he’s not the only one who comes embarrassingly quickly, with Stiles spilling after a mere handful of strokes. Chris can’t help but lean down and lick at his hand, cleaning off the come. Stiles groans at the sight, and Chris lifts his head with a twinkle in his eye. “Want me to clean up the rest of you, baby?”

Stiles nods, and mumbles out something that might be _please_. Chris moves down the bed and settles himself between Stiles’ splayed out thighs, taking in the mess of come and slick. The taste is strange on his tongue, but he likes it. He starts to eagerly lap and suckle at the wet folds, encouraged by the noises Stiles makes, and before long he finds himself plunging his tongue in and out, desperately chasing more of the taste.

Stiles is panting above him, moaning out his name, and he’s hard again. Chris wriggles his tongue where it’s buried deep in Stiles, and is rewarded with the sound of Stiles cursing. He takes his mouth away just long enough to move it to Stiles’ cock, and sucks hm off expertly while he slips two fingers back inside him. Stiles comes with a shout, and Chris swallows his release before drawing his mouth off with a wet pop.

Stiles lies there panting for a moment, before mumbling, ”Okay, witchcraft.”

Chris huffs out a laugh, and moves back up the bed. Stiles wraps himself around him, snuggling up close and resting his head on Chris’s chest.  “Love you,” he says quietly.

“Love you too, baby,” Chris replies, and as they hold each other close he reflects that whatever else is new and different, this part will always be the same.

* * *

 

By the time Chris and Stiles finish their course of what Chris has dubbed the Ass Tea, he can definitely feel the effects on his body. He’s alight with desire, and gets turned on by the slightest of touches.  Stiles assures him that it’s fine, that’s what they want to happen. “Remember, you have to take care of Peter when you’re not busy with me,” he says with a smirk.

Chris doesn’t think it’s going to be a problem. 

He fucked Stiles again last night, and he won’t deny that he loves the clench of Stiles’ slippery, hot flesh around him. But he loved it just as much when he slipped into the royal bedchamber this morning and woke Peter up with soft, sweet kisses, and then fucked him long and slow, before curling around him under the blankets and just holding him, enjoying the familiar warmth. 

Peter’s assured Chris that he’s happy for him to have a child with Stiles. They lay in bed this morning talking, and Chris asked him yet again,  needing to be sure that Peter was all right with it.  In an echo of what Stiles told him, Peter said, “We love you, sweetheart, and we want to do this for you. Let us make you happy, Christopher.”  He’d smiled softly and added, “Besides sweetheart, any child of yours is a child of mine, didn’t you know?” 

Chris shifts in his seat, aware of the brush of his linen trousers against his sensitive cock. He’s getting hard just from wearing _pants,_ dammit. It’s like being a teenager all over again, except at least now he has a desk to hide his erection behind. He’s tempted to give up on work all together, but this paperwork won’t wait, so he determines to push through, and then afterwards he’ll go and see Stiles in his chamber, as a reward.

It takes him an hour to finish what he needs to, and he grows progressively more frustrated. His cock is throbbing, and if it wasn’t for the guard stationed near the door Chris would be tempted to shove his hand inside his pants and stroke himself to completion right there. Instead he reminds himself that he’s the king, and he has a little more dignity than that. As soon as he’s signed the last document though, he’s up and out the door, telling the guard that he’s busy for the rest of the day.

He strides down the hallway to Stiles’ rooms, and knocks once. As soon as Stiles calls out for him to come in, he’s through the door and crowding Stiles against the wall. “I hate that tea,” he grumbles, between kisses. “I’ve been hard for an _hour,_ Stiles, sitting at my desk and signing documents and all I could think about was getting inside you.”

Stiles drapes his arms around Chris’ shoulders. “Well you’re here now. What are we waiting for?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Have at me, your highness, and make it good.”

Chris pins him to the bed and fucks him three times in quick succession. Stiles encourages him shamelessly, moaning and writhing and begging for more.

Afterwards, Chris asks, “How long do you think it will take? Before you catch?”

Stiles looks thoughtful. “I want to say immediately. But realistically, given the effects of the tea and my magic, I’d say inside two weeks.”

Chris’ breath catches at that. “Two weeks? That’s so soon,” he marvels. “How will you know?”

Stiles props himself up on his elbow. “I’ll know. My magic will tell me.”

“Is there someone who you’ll go and see to confirm that you’re really pregnant?” Chris knows that he can trust Stiles, but he needs to ask, to reassure himself. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up for nothing.

Stiles gives him an odd look. “You mean, like a medicine woman?”

“Something like that? I know most women go to their local druid,” Chris says.

“Or, I don’t know, maybe a _mage?_ ” Stiles says pointedly.

It takes Chris a minute to catch up. Oh. “That person is you, isn’t it?” he says sheepishly.

“That person is me. Has been for a couple of years now,” Stiles confirms with a grin. “How do you think baby day started?”

“I didn’t think about it,” Chris confesses.

“Well trust me when I tell you, if I say I’m expecting, I’m expecting. You and Peter will know the minute I do,” Stiles promises. “Now stop talking, I need to rest after you ravaged me so thoroughly.” He settles in against Chris’ chest and dozes, while Chris lays there grinning and thinking _two weeks_.

* * *

 

By the end of two weeks, Chris has dark rings under his eyes, his normally perfect beard needs a trim, and Peter’s refused to sleep with him for over a week now. “I never thought I’d say this darling, but please, can you not fuck me? One of us needs to be in a fit state to run the kingdom, and lord knows, neither you nor Stiles are.”

Peter has a point. Due to the concoction Stiles dosed them with, both Stiles and Chris are in a constant state of arousal, and Peter packed them off to the royal bedroom together a week ago after he caught Chris fucking Stiles in a hallway closet, ignoring his pitiful explanation that they _just couldn’t wait, Peter, you don’t understand what it’s like, it’s the tea._ He had the effrontery to _laugh_ at their disheveled state, but he also told everyone they’re to be left alone, and has been keeping things afloat while they spend the days and nights making love.

Chris loves Peter just a little bit more for taking over, and he knows that Stiles feels the same.  Not having to drag themselves out of bed to deal with the day to day running of the kingdom is a huge relief – Chris isn’t sure he could do it. He resolves to make it up to Peter just as soon as this is over, and he can keep his hands off Stiles.

He and Stiles are both exhausted. Chris is constantly in a state of arousal, his cock throbbing even as his muscles ache and his back screams for mercy. Stiles has stubble burn on his thighs. They’ve fucked in closets, on tables, against the wall, and one memorable time, in the palace gardens under the shade of a magnolia tree. Chris actually fell asleep once while Stiles rode him, only waking up when he was coming. Stiles was too weary to even mock him for it.

Chris has only crawled out of bed because he needs a bath – he’d lifted one arm this morning and the scent of his own sweat and come had overwhelmed him, and he knows that if he’s offending himself, it must be bad. He relaxes back in the tub, enjoying the feeling of the hot water on his aching muscles. He lathers up a cloth and starts to wash himself. He doesn’t look up when the door to the bathroom opens, busy dragging the bunched-up fabric over his abdomen. But then a pair of long fingered hands are cupping his face and tilting his head back, and Stiles smiles at him. “Join me?” Chris asks, spreading his legs wide. “There’s room for two.”

Stiles slips off his robe in answer, before sliding gracefully into the water and settling himself into the vee of Chris’s legs. Chris soaps up the cloth and begins to draw it over Stiles’ body, gently washing away the evidence of their lovemaking. Stiles hums contentedly, and drops his head back against Chris’ chest.  Chris continues to wash them both, until finally they’re clean and the water’s cooling. He nudges at Stiles, indicating that he should get out of the tub. They dry themselves, but as Chris goes to walk back to the bedroom Stiles catches his hand. “I had them come and change the linens,” he says, seeming apropos of nothing.

Chris nods, puzzled. They’ve been changing the bedding twice a day, and Chris has been avoiding the knowing looks of the housemaids as they swoop in and restore the bed to order. But he knows they were only changed last night, and surely, they weren’t that bad yet?

Stiles’ continues, “These ones can stay clean. You did it. Congratulations.”

Chris stares at him, openmouthed as his brain tries to make sense of the words. “You’re…” is all he can manage.

“Yep.” Stiles says smugly.

“Are you sure? How do you know?” Chris’ words fall over each other as excitement washes over him.

Stiles’ grin widens as he says, “I’m sure. Quite apart from anything else, I’m not dragging you to bed, and you’re not dragging me. The aphrodisiac effects of the tea stop working once there’s a pregnancy.”

He’s right, Chris realizes. When he thinks of the bed made up with crisp, fresh sheets, all he wants to do is go to sleep. He smiles so hard his face hurts and pulls Stiles into a rough hug. “Have I told you you’re amazing?” he says, face pressed against Stiles’ shoulder.

“Not today,” Stiles laughs. “Now let’s go tell Peter.”

* * *

 

Peter’s in the office, head down, reading something when they walk in the door. He takes one look at them and his eyes light up. “Yes?” he asks, tone hopeful.

“Yes,” Stiles confirms.

Peter comes out from behind the desk and sweeps him into a hug, before turning and doing the same to Chris. “I’m so happy for you both,” he says, beaming.

Any thoughts Chris may have had about Peter being jealous are swept away when he sees the genuine delight on his face, but still. “Happy for the three of us, you mean,” he corrects gently.

Peter’s expression softens at that. “Of course, I meant the three of us.” He turns to Stiles and asks, “Does that mean I can finally get my hands on you, darling?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Of course. I tell you this momentous news and _that’s_ your main concern.”

“Well, be fair. I’ve been deprived for the last week,” Peter reminds him.

Stiles smiles tiredly. “And we appreciate you giving us that time, honestly. And as soon as I have the energy I’m gonna pin you down and ride you so good, I promise. But can we at least wait till tomorrow? I need to sleep first, or I’m likely to fall asleep before you even get your cock in me.”

“Of course, sweetheart. We need to take care of your health, after all,” Peter agrees. His eyes stray to Stiles’ stomach, and Stiles catches the look.

He stretches exaggeratedly, and says “You know, I’m suddenly very tired. Would it be terrible if I asked you to desert the office for an hour or two, and come back to bed with me? I’ve missed having you both wrapped round me.”

Peter knows that Stiles is pandering to him, to his need for contact and affection, and he doesn’t care. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”  He locks the office, leaves instructions that they’re not to be disturbed unless there are lives at stake, and lets Stiles lead him back to bed, where they don’t even think about having sex, but instead spend the afternoon petting Stiles’ belly and cooing at him, as he lays there and laughs at how ridiculous they both are. He falls asleep with Chris and Peter wrapped around him, both with a hand on his stomach, and none of them stir till the next morning.

 

* * *

 

When Peter wakes, it’s to see that Chris is gone, and Stiles is lying next to him watching him, a smile playing across his face. “Morning,” Stiles says quietly.

“Morning?”

“Yeah. We slept all night.”  Stiles sits up and stretches, and the sheets pool around his waist. ”Chris got up an hour ago, but I’ve been waiting for you.”

 Peter can’t help the way his eyes roam over Stiles’ lithe frame, drinking in the tattoos and muscle on display. ”God, you’re pretty,” he says, extending a hand and running it down Stiles ribs. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. Now get over here and kiss me.” Stiles makes grabby hands in Peter’s direction. Peter kisses him thoroughly, and they’re both slightly breathless by the time they part.

“So, I seem to remember you making certain promises, young mage,” Peter purrs.

Stiles pulls Peter close, rubbing his palms up and down Peter’s back. “I did make certain promises,” he agrees. “I said I was going to ride you.”

Peter nuzzles against Stiles’ throat and nips at the delicate skin there, and Stiles lets out a series of soft moans in response. ”Gods, your mouth,” he murmurs, and Peter hums as he continues to lick and kiss his way down the column of Stiles’ throat. Stiles tilts his head back to allow him better access, and Peter sucks a dark mark just above his collarbone, making Stiles whine. “Keep that up and I’m going to come before you even get near me,” he warns.

Peter lifts his mouth away and quirks a brow. “Really?”

Stiles nods. “Uh huh. I’m still sensitive everywhere _._ Aftereffect of the tea.”

Peter’s grin turns sharp. “ _Everywhere?_ So if I run my hand between your legs I’ll find you already wet for me?”

“So wet,” Stiles agrees. He dips his hand beneath the sheets and brings it out a moment later, and his fingertips are glistening.

Peter groans at the sight, and rolls Stiles over so he’s flat on his back. He brackets Stiles’ body with his own. “You’re mine, now.” He hesitates for just a moment. “You’re not still too tired for this are you sweetheart? Because we can wait.” He thinks he’ll cry if Stiles takes him up on it, but he has to offer.

Peter’s desperate for release – although he’d never admit it to either of them, it’s been a difficult week for him. He’s used to sex on an almost daily basis, not running the kingdom singlehandedly and having nobody in his bed at night. His own hand just isn’t the same. To his relief, Stiles wraps his arms around Peter’s neck and pulls him in for a filthy kiss in response. His tongue slips into Peter’s mouth just as it has a thousand times before, but it’s different somehow, more intense. Peter lets himself be kissed, can feel Stiles’ erection pressing into his thigh. Stiles pulls away and smiles at him, slow and lazy and full of promise. “Not too tired. Want to feel you in me, baby. I _missed you_.” He punctuates his words by rolling his hips forward, pressing against Peter. “And it feels like you missed me too,” he adds with a grin.

“Oh darling, you have no idea.” Peter kisses Stiles again, long and slow, letting himself revel in the taste and scent of his lover. Eventually, he moves down to take Stiles’ flat nipple in his mouth, tugging at it with his teeth and earning a high-pitched squeak.

He feels Stiles’ hands come up and grasp the back of his head, holding him in place. “More,” Stiles moans out, and Peter’s happy to oblige. He teases at the nub with teeth and tongue while Stiles rolls his hips beneath him and moans filthily. Peter slips a hand down and wraps it around Stiles’ erection, pumping him once, twice, before letting go and exploring further. Even though he knows it’s there, has been dreaming about it, it’s still shocking when he sinks a finger inside of Stiles and feels how wet he is, how soft and welcoming.

He drags his finger in and out slowly, and Stiles makes tiny encouraging noises, so he keeps doing it. The flesh gives so easily beneath his touch, and before he knows it he has two fingers pumping in and out at a leisurely pace while he suckles and bites at Stiles’ chest. Stiles arches his back, and tugs on Peter’s hair. “I’m ready. Want you to fuck me,” he gasps out.

Peter lets himself be rolled over, his erection slapping at his belly and leaking precome already, and Stiles has barely touched him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself a little, get control. He can feel Stiles straddling him, wrapping a firm hand around Peter’s cock, and then he hears a whispered, “Ready?”

He opens his eyes to see Stiles poised over him, and then he’s sinking down slowly, taking Peter inside him in a single long slide, and Peter can’t help the broken sound he makes as he’s sheathed in hot, tight, flesh that pulses around him. Stiles groans in turn as he sinks all the way down, and they stay there for a moment, both panting a little.

 _“Stiles,”_ Peter moans, and it sounds like a prayer.

And then Stiles starts to move.

They’ve done this before, so many times, Stiles impaled on his cock and moving up and down, creating a delicious friction as Peter slides in and out of him, but this…this is overwhelming. Peter can feel his control slipping already, and they’re barely started. He wants to hold back, make it last, but he already knows it’s a lost cause. It’s been too long, and this is too good. His hips start to thrust up of their own accord, and his hands grip Stiles tightly round his waist, moving him faster.

Stiles has his eyes closed, mouth hanging open, and he looks completely blissed out as he puts his hands on Peter’s chest and leans forwards, changing the angle slightly. “Yeah, like that,” he mumbles to himself, as he moves up and down in a steady rhythm. Peter moves his hands and pulls Stiles closer, before rolling them over. “Want you like this,” he gasps out. “Want to fuck you _hard._ ”

“Oh, fuck yes.” Stiles is nodding his agreement even as Peter grabs him by the hips and drives in, hard and fast and merciless. His need overtakes him, and he closes his eyes, lost in the sensation of _hotwarmwetcuntyes._ He’s barely holding on, and when Stiles tightens around him suddenly as he comes untouched, Peter’s lost. He slams home, emptying himself inside of Stiles with a cry. Stiles’ body continues to twitch and contract around him, milking his release as he collapses on top of his lover.

It takes a moment before he can speak.

He lifts his head and looks at Stiles, sees him looking smug. “That was…embarrassingly quick,” Peter manages.

“Yep.” Stiles agrees. “But if it makes you feel better, you lasted longer than his royal hotness…by about ten seconds.”

Peter laughs softly, and it causes his soft cock to slip out of Stiles. “I suppose that’s some consolation.”

Stiles nudges at Peter till he rolls off him, and curls up against his side. “Don’t worry. Next time we’ll both last longer.”

“Next time, I’ll eat you out first,’ Peter says. “Make you come twice, and then, when you’re all loose and relaxed, I’ll fuck you nice and slow, till you’re nothing but a messy, fucked out little cunt.”

Stiles voice hitches a little as he says “Promise?”

Peter grins. ”Promise. And you know I always keep my word, sweetheart.”

 

* * *

 

Later, when Peter has indeed kept his word, and Stiles has recovered the power of speech, they talk about the elephant in the room.

“Do you think Chris has realized he’ll have to marry you to secure the child’s succession?” Peter asks quietly.

Stiles shakes his head. “The whole thing’s happened so fast, and he’s basically been in rut for the past two weeks. I don’t think his higher brain function’s returned yet. But you’re right, of course If he wants a legitimate heir, we’ll need to marry.” He hesitates. “Are you all right with it, Peter? Tell me honestly, not that _putting the kingdom first_ bullshit that you’ll tell Chris.”

Peter knows he can tell Stiles how he feels, and it will never leave this room. It gives him the courage to be honest. “I wish it was me. I wish it was my child, and I wish I was the one marrying you.”

Stiles sits up in bed and looks at him, surprised. “I thought you’d want to marry Chris? You two have been together forever.”

Peter shrugs. “I want to marry both of you, really. But that’s impossible, and wanting it is selfish. A good ruler makes sacrifices for his kingdom. It is what it is.”

Stiles groans and scrubs a hand over his face. “How upsetting is this going to be for you?”

Peter takes the time to honestly consider it, and the answer surprises even him. “Sweetheart, it won’t be. The three of us will run the kingdom together, and you and I will mock our king for the way he’ll doubtless dote on his child, even though we’ll be just as bad, and at the end of the day we’ll all fall into bed together, just like we do now. Nothing will change, except you’ll have a pretty little tiara to wear while I fuck you senseless.”

Stiles regards him silently for a moment, before saying, “I think you’ll find it’s a _coronet,_ not a tiara _._ ”

And Peter knows that Stiles understands. Knows that Peter’s not thrilled, but that he can live with it.

God, he loves this man. Loves both of them. And he supposes that’s why he’s all right with it. He tries to explain. “I seduced Chris when he was seventeen and I was fifteen. He was gorgeous and I wanted him, selfish little brat that I was. And Christopher? He turned out to be the best kind of man. I thought I was luring him in with my wiles, but it turned out I was the one who fell in love with him in no time flat. And I’d still do anything for him, including not marrying him for his own good. I love you both, Stiles, probably more than I should, so really, it’s no sacrifice for me to see you happy.” Stiles bites his lip and gives a small nod, and Peter knows he’s convinced him. “Marry Christopher, Stiles,” he says. ”It’s what’s best for the kingdom, and for Chris, and for your child.” He sees the way Stiles’ hand rests on his belly instinctively when Peter mentions the baby. “I promise I’m fine, really. As long as I’m invited on the honeymoon. I’ve never fucked a married man before,” he says flippantly.

Stiles laughs, startled, and Peter smiles to himself.  He can make this work, if he can just convince Chris.

 

* * *

 

One of the things Chris loves about Peter is how eminently practical he is.

One of the things that infuriates Chris about Peter is how maddeningly practical he is. Not two days after Stiles announced his pregnancy, instead of letting Chris just bask in the warmth of knowing he's going to be a father, Peter’s spoiling it with politics and intrigue. It doesn’t matter if he’s right – what he’s proposing feels wrong to Chris, and he says so.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Surely you realized that for the child to have a claim to the throne you’d have to marry our boy, Christopher?”

“What if Stiles doesn’t want to marry me? And what about you? You can’t expect me to be okay with this, knowing it will upset you.” Chris challenges.

“Whether it upset me or not doesn’t come into it. We did _not_ go to all this trouble just for your sister to be able to challenge the child’s legitimacy in the future. You marry Stiles, and the throne’s secure,” Peter declares firmly.

Peter has his hands on his hips, and he and Chris are almost nose to nose, neither of them backing down an inch.  “I _hate_ that you’re right!” Chris huffs out, throwing his arms up in the air.

“But you do admit that I’m right. There are bigger things at stake here than my tender feelings, Christopher.” Peter has that gleam in his eye that he gets when he’s determined to win.

“We’d have to talk to Stiles and see what he says,” Chris hedges. For all he knows, Stiles might turn him down flat – he’s always been a free spirit.  And if that’s the case, Chris will propose a different set of paperwork, and adopt the child as his, like he’d been planning on doing before Peter came up with his ridiculous proposal of marriage.

“I already talked to him. He says he’ll do it,” Peter reveals.

And that just annoys Chris no end. “Really? Were you planning to let me have any say in this? Or are you just going to do what you want while I'm left standing by? What am I, the token royal?”

Peter sighs, and rubs a hand over his face. “Christopher, you know I love you dearly. You’re a good king and a wonderful lover, and I never want to lose you, okay? But you can’t put your emotions over the good of the kingdom. You just can’t. That’s why you have me, to nudge you in the right direction.”

Chris deflates a little as the truth of Peter’s words sink in. “Well, sometimes your nudging feels an awful lot like steamrolling,” he grumbles. “You could at least pretend I have some input.”

Peter’s expression softens. “I know it seems sudden. But we want it to be soon, before Stiles starts to show.” It’s a subtle reminder of why they’re doing this, and at the thought of his baby Chris can’t help but smile.

“I suppose.” He hesitates before adding, ”But I wish it could be you. It seems like you’re getting excluded at every turn.”

Peter folds his hands over Chris’s, warm and reassuring. “You’re looking at this the wrong way, sweetheart. Technically, yes, you’ll be married to Stiles. But sweetheart, we know that you’re mine, and I’ve always been yours, and lord knows the both of us belong to Stiles, so really, do the words on a sheet of paper even matter?”

Chris falls silent for a moment, head bowed. Finally, he says, “Can I at least have a few days to think about this?”

“Of course you can, Christopher. But you know I’m right.”

It’s four days later when Chris calls them to his office. When they arrive, he tells them, “If you both still agree, we can draft the proclamation of marriage and put it out at the end of the week. But before we do that, I wanted to give you both something.” At their puzzled expressions, he opens his desk drawer and pulls out a wooden box. He opens the box to reveal three rings. Each ring is made up of three intertwined bands, gold and silver and platinum, simple but beautiful. He takes out the first ring and holds out his hand to Peter. “ I wanted do something to show you that no matter what the paperwork says, I’m yours, and you’re mine, and Stiles is ours, and we’re his. Wear my ring, Peter?”

Peter nods silently and puts his hand in Chris’. As he slips the ring on, Chris murmurs, “Three into one, just like us.”

He takes the second ring and holds it out to Stiles. “Wear my ring, Stiles?”

Stiles nods, and lets out a shaky breath as Chris repeats the process, once again saying, “Three into one.” Stiles examines his hand, and beams.

Peter takes the largest ring from the box and holds it out on his palm to Chris, who takes it and slips it onto his own finger. “Three into one, highness,” Peter says softly. He leans in and kisses Chris soft and sweet, before saying, “You’re a damned sap, Christopher. But I love you anyway.”

Stiles lets out a tiny sound that’s half laugh, half sob, and Chris turns to him concerned, but although there’s a tear running down Stiles'  cheek, his face is alight with happiness. “Love you both, but Peter’s right, Chris. You’re a sap,” he says, and wraps his long arms around them both.

Chris feels something in him settle. The three of them _are_ one – paperwork be damned.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s Stiles who spots it a few days later. He’s sprawled lazily on the daybed in Peter’s office, reading over the paperwork for the proclamation. There’s never been a royal wedding in Lower Beacon, so they want to get the wording just right, which has necessitated dragging out the original laws that Chris and Peter drafted together.

“Peter,” he says, frowning. “Come here for a minute?”

Peter looks up from his desk. “What is it, sweetheart? Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine. I just need you to read this and see if it says what I think it says.”  He waves a piece of paper in Peter’s direction.

Peter comes over and nudges Stiles over so he can sit down, taking the document. “What is it?”

“It’s the kingdom’s definition of marriage. Do me a favor and read it out, will you?”

Peter obediently clears his throat and reads “That within the kingdom of Lower Beacon marriage shall consist of a union between consenting parties, who shall be of legal age, joined in union by  a registered celebrant.”

He looks at Stiles, puzzled. “What am I missing?”

“Read it again. Carefully.”

Peter does so. “That within the kingdom of Lower Beacon marriage shall consist of a union between consenting parties –“

“How many parties, Peter?” Stiles interrupts.

“Well two, obviously.”

“Obviously. But does it _say_ only two?” Stiles is grinning.

Peter draws in a sharp breath as he realizes. He stares at Stiles, mouth open, and Stiles grins, looking supremely pleased with himself.

“ _CHRIS!_ ” Peter bellows.

Chris is in his own office, and he comes scrambling through the connecting door. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Peter brandishes the piece of paper. “We were lazy lawmakers ten years ago Christopher, and Stiles has found a loophole.”

“What kind of a loophole? I mean, it’s pretty straightforward,” Chris says as he reads the paperwork.

“Except it’s not. There’s nothing to say how many parties can make up a marriage,” Stiles interjects smugly.

Chris stares at him. He rereads the document, and a smile starts to play about the corners of his mouth. “Well I’ll be damned. It doesn’t.”

He turns to Peter, and says “Marry me? I mean, marry us?”

Peter’s answering smile is blinding. “I thought you’d never ask, your highness.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a wedding.

 

They set the wedding date for a month away.

It’s not the intimate ceremony Chris had hoped for, but both Stiles and Peter override him. “We need to invite guests from the surrounding kingdoms, Christopher. It’s a happy event, and we want to share it. Otherwise it will look like you’re not a willing participant in your own marriage,” Peter chides.

Stiles agrees, surprisingly. Chris thought Stiles would go for something small, but he shakes his head. “Listen to Peter on this one. There hasn’t been a triumvirate marriage before, we need to make a statement. If it was up to me, I’d sooner have a bonding ceremony with just us, but we need to do the whole dog and pony show for the sake of diplomacy.” He sighs quietly, hand straying to his stomach in an already familiar gesture. “I hope you both appreciate me tying myself down. I was such a free spirit before, and yet here I am, marrying _two_ of you.” He casts a hand against his forehead dramatically.

“You can always change your mind,” Chris says, aware that Stiles is teasing him.

“Too late. Fell in love with you both,” Stiles replies easily, and Chris can’t hide his smile.

“Same, baby. Now come here.” Chris spreads his long legs wide where he’s sitting on the couch, and Stiles comes over and straddles him easily.  Chris takes Stiles' face between his palms and kisses him. “How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

“A little tired, but I think that’s mainly still from lack of sleep. It’s too early for me to be feeling anything, honestly.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Chris says quietly. “It doesn’t seem real.”

Stiles laughs. “Trust me, it’ll feel real when I’m as big as a house and you have to help me out of my chair.”

“Can’t wait.” Chris rests his hand on Stiles’ stomach, and Stiles leans down so their foreheads are touching.

“Are you going to keep mooning over me for the next nine months?” he asks, amused.

“Of course he is,” Peter says, as he walks in the door. “ I mean, look at him. He’s ridiculous already. Christopher, how are we meant to keep this quiet until after the wedding if you insist on pawing at our boy’s stomach like some overprotective caveman?”

Chris pokes his tongue out at Peter in a distinctly unroyal gesture. “There’s nobody here but us three. It’s fine.”

Peter just shakes his head as he hands them both a list. “Here are the guests. Invitations go out as soon as you both approve it.”

Stiles skims over the list and nods. “Not too big, but it has all the people who need to be on there.” He grins at the inclusion of one name. “Are we just inviting Deucalion because we know he’ll torment Kate with it?”

“Absolutely,” Chris replies. “It will drive her mad, knowing that I’m happy.”

It’s so unlike him that Stiles turns and stares. “Christopher Argent, do you have a _mean streak_?”

Peter smirks. “Of course he does. Just because he’s a fair ruler, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t act like a petulant child when it comes to his bitch of a sister. He’s never quite forgiven her for propositioning me repeatedly, even though she knew we were together.”

Chris smiles a little meanly. “This wedding is going to rub her face in the fact that I’m marrying the loves of my life, while she’s confined to a cell. If revelling in that makes me petty, so be it.”

Peter just grins, and proceeds to bore them with wedding preparations for the rest of the afternoon. Chris tolerates it with good grace, because they only have a month to prepare, and after that he’ll have both his husbands.

 

* * *

 

The four weeks fly by. Time passes in a blur of menus and strategic seating charts and being fitted for their wedding outfits. Stiles mutters under his breath every time he has to visit the tailor - he normally dresses like a wildling, all open robes and rolled up pants, bare feet and mussed hair, nothing like the fitted pants and jacket he’ll be wearing for the wedding. Chris knows that Stiles truly loves him when, even though he spends ninety nine percent of his time barefoot and hates all footwear with a passion, Stiles announces that he’s willing  to wear a pair of boots and even keep them on all day, just this once. Peter rewards him with a blowjob, because they all know what a big deal it is.

Suddenly, before Chris knows it, it’s his wedding day. The vows are written, the robes are ready, the palace is primped and polished ready for the guests, and the palace staff are falling over themselves to make his day perfect. Chris has been stopped in the hallways more times than he can count over the last month by people who work for him wanting to congratulate him, and he knows they mean it.

Heather the cook actually cornered him in the kitchen just so she could pull him into a crushing hug and tell him, “I’m so glad for you. You deserve this, my sweet prince.”  (She’s been calling him that since he hired her as a young man, and she refuses to stop. Chris doesn’t bother to object anymore – when they’re in her kitchen, she rules supreme, and Chris knows when he’s outranked.)

Now that it's time, Chris is stupidly excited to see his two lovers walk up the aisle together. Peter will walk Stiles up the aisle, and Stiles will walk Peter. They’ll join Chris in front of Deaton for the ceremony, and afterwards they’ll go back to the palace, where the crowds will be waiting for them. Excitement among the people is at a fever pitch – they’re all happy to see their king marrying his lovers, with one or two exceptions. It probably helps that Chris has declared a three day national holiday to mark the occasion.

He stands in front of the altar, wearing his midnight blue fitted jacket with gold braiding and long tails over a crisp white shirt, tight black trousers, and knee length black boots. It’s almost military in style, and his valet has assured him he looks very handsome. It’s been so long since he dressed without either of his partners there that it had felt strange, having a servant help him, instead of Peter fussing with his collar and Stiles commenting  how good his ass looks in those pants.

His crown sits heavy on his head, literally, and he wishes he didn’t have to wear it at all, but some traditions can’t be ignored. If Stiles can wear shoes, he can wear this stupid thing. He’s hit with a wave of nervousness, and has to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He glances at the clock yet again, frowning. They’re meant to be here by now. What if they’ve changed their minds? What if something’s happened?

Just as he’s convinced himself that there’s been some kind of disaster, he hears the trumpets signalling his grooms' arrival start to play. He turns, and sees Peter and Stiles, arm in arm, walking sedately up the aisle, both beaming at him. He stares at the picture they make, and thinks to himself that he’s the luckiest man alive. They’re both wearing jackets and pants to match his own, and the blue makes Peter’s eyes shine brilliantly. Stiles walks beside him, and  he’s been transformed. He’s perfectly dressed, groomed to within an inch of his life, and looks mouth-wateringly handsome, every inch the crown prince. Chris feels a wave of affection as he looks at them.

He casts his eyes around the guests and sees them nodding and smiling in approval, and his heart nearly bursts out of his chest with pride. Peter and Stiles reach his side, and Peter leans forward and whispers in an undertone “You should see yourself, Christopher. You’re _preening_.”

“Can you blame me?” Chris whispers back. “You both look amazing, and I’m about to marry the cleverest man in the kingdom _and_ the most powerful mage. I’m allowed to preen.”  Deaton must hear the mage comment because he clears his throat pointedly, and throw Chris a dirty look. Stiles huffs out a laugh from where he’s standing, and tips Deaton a wink.

The ceremony itself is short and to the point, with the exchanging of vows and the signing of documents, but just when Chris thinks it’s over, Peter nudges him. “One more thing, highness. The coronation.”

Chris raises a brow at him. He’s meant to crown them after the wedding part of the service, to officially mark them as royal consorts, but they  went through the treasury, and there was nothing in there that seemed right, so Chris has no idea what they’re using. Peter catches his look and says “Don’t worry. I took matters into my own hands, and had them made.”

He nods to where Deaton’s produced a cushion from somewhere with two simple gold circlets placed on it. He looks at them, then back at Peter and Stiles who are smiling smugly. He picks up the first one, and he can see it has sapphires embedded around it, in the exact colour of Peter’s eyes. He clears his throat and holds it high, and Peter kneels before him. Peter recites the oath swearing his loyalty to the crown and to his king. Chris places the coronet on Peter’s head, and declares loudly “The Prince consort, Peter,”  to loud applause. Peter stands and Chris kisses him for far longer than he should in a formal ceremony. Deaton starts huffing impatiently and tapping his foot, which makes Peter pull Chris closer and kiss him harder until Deaton gets the hint and stops. The guests are still applauding, and Chris beams at them when Peter finally lets him go.

Then Stiles kneels before him, but not before leaning in and whispering, “Are you _sure_ we need to use my real name?”

Chris doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead picking up the other coronet, this one studded with topaz. After Stiles recites the oath, Chris places it on Stiles’ head and announces, “The Prince consort, Mieczyslaw.” There’s a moment of stunned silence from the crowd, until Chris adds, “Who we all know and love as Stiles.” The guests laugh and start to clap then, and Stiles stands and pulls Chris in for a searing kiss. “Since when can you pronounce my name properly?”  he asks quietly when they part, because Chris has barely been able to get his tongue around it before now, but today, his pronunciation was flawless.

Chris looks smug. “I practiced a little.” Stiles doesn’t need to know that he spent six hours on it the day before.

Stiles grins widely. “Remind me to reward your efforts.”

“Oh baby, trust me, I plan to hold you to that.”

The three of them link hands then, and turn to face the guests.  Deaton introduces them formally as, “His Highness King Christopher and Princes Peter and Stiles of Lower Beacon.” They exit the chapel still holding hands, smiling and nodding at their guests, and when they walk out the door, the shouts of the crowd overwhelm them.

Chris can see people waving flags, holding flowers and gifts and signs wishing them well, and he has a sudden moment of clarity where it hits him just how loved he is. He knew that his subjects were grateful to him for stopping the war three years ago, but now it strikes him that they actually _care_ about him and his happiness.

So he does what he’s been repeatedly warned not to do under any circumstances, lest it mess with the day’s timetable. He steps forward and starts to shake hands. He accepts the flowers and the congratulations and the hugs. He takes the babies and kisses them.  He takes the time to open and examine gifts, and thank the givers. Beside him, Peter and Stiles look at each other, grinning, and follow his lead. Chris knows they have a schedule, knows he’s ruining it, but just this once, he doesn’t give a damn. He lets himself be selfish, and soak in the love of his people.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re an hour and a half late to their own wedding reception. Nobody really seems to mind, though, busy socialising as they drink the wine that flows freely and nibble at the seemingly endless parade of canapes that appear. When the wedding party finally appears, the guests settle at their tables, and no mention is made of the delay.

Chris’ face hurts from smiling so hard, and he can see that his husbands aren’t any better, both of them practically glowing with happiness. The three of them nudge each other fondly, and he sees Peter mouthing the word _husband_ at Stiles, making Stiles go pink with pleasure. They keep the speeches short, and the glasses full, and Chris dances a waltz firstly with Peter, then with Stiles, before making way for the other couples to join them.

Deucalion comes over to Chris and hugs him in congratulations. “I’m happy for you,” he says unexpectedly. “As leaders, we often sacrifice that which we love for the greater good. I’m glad you didn’t have to.”

Chris regards him steadily. “Really, I have you to thank for this. If you hadn’t tried to help Kate invade me, Peter would never have sent for Stiles.”

Deucalion has the good grace to look embarrassed. “I’m ashamed to say your sister spun a pretty web of lies and I was foolish enough to listen. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“How is she?” Chris asks, curious.

“Demanding, rude, and utterly dreadful,” Deucalion says with a grimace.

That startles a laugh out of Chris. “Sounds like she hasn’t changed, then.” He knows it’s mean spirited of him to enjoy his sister’s downfall, but she honestly had it coming.

“Perhaps you should send her a slice of cake to put under her pillow. It might sweeten her up,” Deucalion suggests mischievously.

Chris laughs again. “Remind me to arrange it before you leave.”

Peter approaches him just then. “There you are, _husband._ ” The word sends a shiver up Chris’ spine, the way it rolls off Peter’s tongue like silk.

“Here I am,” he agrees.

Peter takes his arm and says, ”Shall we make the rounds?”  before leading Chris away to make the required small talk and accept the congratulations of their guests. Once Peter’s finished with him, Chris does it all again with Stiles, draping his arm casually around his prince’s shoulder and making sure he doesn’t slip and place a hand on his belly. Stiles leans against him, and murmurs, “How soon till I can take these boots off?”

“Soon, love,” Chris tells him with a smile. “Another half an hour and we can slip away.”

“Good. I have something I want to do for you. A wedding gift for you and Peter,” Stiles tells him, but he won’t elaborate further. Chris is impatient, but he makes it through the next half hour before they say their goodbyes and all three of them leave. Stiles takes both of their hands and says, ”My room. I have everything set up there.”

Chris and Peter follow him eagerly, because Stiles’ plans are normally good plans, and since it’s their wedding night, Chris can only imagine what he’s come up with.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s Peter who breaks the silence as they stare at the ink and the brushes carefully laid out on a tray. “This is… not what I was expecting,” he says slowly.

Stiles holds out a piece of paper, and Chris examines the design traced on it. It’s a triskele, the symbol of three. “I want to tattoo it on all of us. It’s not just for decoration,” Stiles explains. “It would have built in protection charms, and enhance your body’s healing in case of injury.”

“Where would you put it, sweetheart?” Peter asks, considering the design.

“Right hipbone,” Stiles says confidently. “It would only be small, but it would keep you safe. It’s my gift to you.” He looks at Chris and Peter hopefully, and Chris can’t resist those pleading eyes. He glances at Peter, who looks quietly pleased and is already taking his shirt off.

Chris strips down to his underwear. “I’ll wear it gladly, sweetheart. But where are the needles?”

Stiles’ face breaks into a wide smile. “I don’t need any – I’m doing it with Old Magic. Peter, if you lie down next to Chris on the bed, I can do us all at once.” He picks up the ink and the brush, and traces the design onto Chris’ hip, and then Peter’s. Finally, he  paints it on his own body, before taking their hands in his and chanting softly.  Stiles’ eyes glow gold, the runes on his arms turn red, and Chris feels a flash of searing hot pain for just a moment, the magic flaring and burning his flesh. He lets out a grunt, and hears Peter hiss between his teeth. Once the feeling passes, he sits up and glances down, expecting to see an angry red mark, but that’s not what he finds. The skin’s completely healed, and the ink’s embedded deep in his skin. He runs a fingertip over it gently, then does the same with Peter’s mark. He looks at Stiles in wonder. “I love it,” he says simply.

Stiles smiles, pleased. “I want you protected. I’d like to keep you both around.” 

Chris runs a hand over the matching mark on Stiles. He can’t help but ask, “Is it safe? For the baby I mean, casting spells on yourself?” The flat look Stiles gives him in response tells him what a stupid question that was.

Peter rolls his eyes fondly. “One day, Christopher, you’ll learn to trust that our husband knows what he’s doing. But for now, can we please go to bed? It’s my wedding night, and I've been waiting far too long for someone to seduce me.”

Chris pushes him back against the bed. “It’s my duty as the king to seduce you both, I believe.” He straddles Peter’s naked body and pins him down, kissing him firmly. “And I’ve never been one to shirk my royal duty.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles is still showing no outward sign of his pregnancy at eight weeks, but he can feel the thrum of his magic as it connects him to the new life growing within him. He’s more excited than he thought he would be, and he’s quietly looking forwards to the day they can share their news. Chris continues to put his hand on Stiles’ stomach whenever they’re alone, even though his abs remain flat and firm under his touch. One afternoon, when Chris is feeling his belly and smiling, Stiles has an idea. He knows Chris is impatient to see proof of his impending fatherhood, so he decides to indulge him a little. He says, “Hey, get Peter will you?”  Chris looks at him, eyebrow raised, but Stiles just smiles at him, and says “You’ll see.”

Peter comes into the office a few minutes later, brow furrowed. “You needed me, sweetheart?”

Stiles slips his shirt off and lowers his trousers so they’re tucked under his belly, laying down on the day bed. Peter’s eyes light up, but Stiles shakes his head. “It’s not what you’re thinking, not today.”  Chris looks at him curiously. “I thought I’d show you the baby. Well, sort of.”

He takes his hands and lays them on his stomach, closes his eyes, and waits. He concentrates, and feels when his tattoos start to glow beneath his skin. His belly starts to heat up, and when he opens his eyes, a grapefruit sized patch is glowing golden beneath his palm. “There,” he says softly. Chris stretches out a hand cautiously, and Stiles guides it onto the patch of warmth that shows where his baby is. Peter’s hand  follows mere seconds later, and Stiles closes his eyes, and lets the magic flow through him, while the two men stroke and ooh and aah in delight for long minutes while he relaxes with a grin on his face.  

“That’s our baby,” says Chris softly.  Stiles nods, not opening his eyes. He can only keep this up for so long, but he wants to give his husbands as much time as he can, so he concentrates on the spell. He feels hands cupping his face, and Peter leans in and kisses him. His eyes fly open, and Peter’s looking at him with awe.

“Thank you, sweet boy,” Peter says, and his normally guarded expression is soft and open. Stiles kisses him back, even as he feels his magic starting to wane. When they part, Stiles looks down and can just see the barest traces of the golden glow fading, and Chris is staring down at where his hand is resting, silent.

Stiles sits up, and nudges Chris. “I knew you wanted to see, so I figured I could show you that, at least.” He rests his head against Chris’ chest, and lets Chris cradle him there quietly for a minute.

Finally, Chris says, “It’s …” words fail him, and he settles for a beaming smile and a happy sigh.

“Yeah. Yeah it is,” Stiles agrees. “A few more weeks, and you can shout it from the rooftops, I promise.”

“And I will,” Chris says, still beaming. Stiles knows Chris has the announcement already written and stashed in his desk drawer. He’s revised it eight times so far.  Stiles suspects he just likes reading the words _Their Royal Highnesses the King of Lower Beacon and Prince consort are very pleased to announce that the Prince consort is expecting a child –_ he’s caught Chris peeking in the drawer, reading the announcement and grinning more than once. He’s like a kid at Christmas waiting to open his present, and Stiles thinks it’s kinda cute, if he’s honest.

 

* * *

 

 

Week ten is when it suddenly starts to be a lot less fun for Stiles. They’re eating lunch one day when a putrid, mildewy scent assaults him, and immediately makes him want to gag. He puts his hand over his mouth as he looks around for the source of the offending smell, and is greeted by the sight of Peter casually peeling an orange. “Nope,” he says, and bolts from the room.

Once he’s away from the fruit, his stomach slowly settles, but it lurches again dangerously when Peter seeks him out, the sharp odor of citrus fruit still clinging to his fingers. Stiles points at the door. “ _Get out get out get out_ ,” he chants, as Peter stares at him. “Oranges, Peter. You smell like oranges. Don’t come near me till you’ve showered.”

“Oranges?” Peter repeats, mystified.

“It’s making me gag. _Please_ , get away from me,” Stiles begs, as he struggles to hold down his lunch. Peter retreats quickly, and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. Normally, he loves the smell and the taste of citrus, but apparently his baby doesn’t.

A few minutes later, Chris knocks on the door and pokes his head around. “Stiles?”

“Come in, as long as you don’t smell like an orange.”

Chris slips into the room and lies down next to him on the bed, stroking his neck softly. “You okay, baby?” he asks finally.

Stiles shakes his head. “My mother could never stand the smell of citrus fruit when she was pregnant. Looks like I’ve inherited it.”

Chris drapes himself around Stiles’ back, his deep voice comforting as he says, ”We’ll send word to the kitchen, ban anything citrus from the menu, okay?”

Stiles sighs. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, there’s a drink that’s meant to cure morning sickness, but I don’t think it will help in this case. It’s lemon based.”

Chris snorts. ”So, what can you do? Can’t you magic the sickness away?”

“Yes and no. There is a spell, but it’s one of those spells where it’s such a pain in the ass to do it, the cure is worse than the affliction. I mean, if everything starts making me ill, I’d consider it. But if it’s just this one thing, I’d sooner just wait it out.”

Chris creeps his palm across and cups Stiles’ non existent belly. Stiles snuggles back against him, and they’re still laying there when Peter comes back, freshly changed and showered. He joins them in the big bed, facing Stiles and stroking his hair as he apologises over and over. Stiles just hums in response, his eyes drifting closed under their touch.

He naps for a while, and when he wakes he’s alone in the bed. He stirs himself and gets up, finding Chris and Peter both in their respective offices hard at work. He assures them both that he’s fine, that it’s all part of the process, and goes for a walk in the gardens to clear his head. He finds himself leaning against the magnolia tree where he and Chris made love, and before he knows it he’s drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Oranges continue to be the devil, with lemons a close second. Chris has to go to the kitchen and reiterate than _no citrus_ means _no citrus, by royal order_ after some well-meaning soul decides that lemon sauce on their fish doesn’t count, surely.  Stiles gets one whiff and spends twenty minutes being violently ill. They discover two nights later that fish, even without the sauce, is also a no go. Stiles is devastated – there’s nothing he likes better than a nice fresh fillet of fish, lightly fried in butter.

Used to like.

And after that, the nausea just kind of hangs around, like an unwelcome and irritating house guest. Even when he's not throwing up, his stomach rolls and lurches around with every movement, and he has a distinct green pallor. Sex is definitely off the table – there’s far too much movement involved. Every time he lies down to sleep, his gorge rises in his throat, so he takes to sleeping sitting in an armchair. Even then, he barely manages to sleep for more than an hour at a time. He’s surviving on dry toast and naps.  He starts seriously considering casting the pain in the ass spell.

He’s poking morosely in the pantry a couple of days later, looking for something that won’t turn his stomach, when Heather comes into the kitchen. She looks him over with an assessing eye, and says, “Come. Sit.”

Stiles obediently sits at the big table in the centre of the room, and Heather bustles about for a few minutes before bringing him over a hot mug of something. “Drink that. It’ll settle the baby.”  Stiles stares at her, open mouthed. “You _are_ both - blessed, aren’t you, highness? And expecting?” she asks gently.  Stiles nods dumbly, and she must see the question in his eyes. She pats his arm fondly as she says, ”I’ve got five children of my own, and fourteen grandchildren, and you’ve been a certain shade of green this last week or so. I recognise the signs.”

Stiles shakes his head ruefully. “I thought I was hiding it so well. It’s not official yet. You won’t say anything will you?”

Heather laughs. “Of course not. Though if we take it from those two weeks you and his majesty were confined to bed, I’d say you probably aren’t far off announcing it, are you?”

“Another week or so, if the king can wait that long,” Stiles confirms. He looks dubiously at the mug. ”This isn’t lemon, is it?”

Heather shakes her head. “No, no citrus. This is peppermint, with a few little extras – old family recipe. It should settle your stomach nicely. I took it when I was expecting all of mine, and my girls all took it with theirs.” Stiles takes a small sip, and makes a pleased sound. Heather watches, satisfied, as he drinks the whole mug. Once he’s finished, Stiles gives her a grateful smile.  

“Better?” she asks, and Stiles nods. He feels better than he has in a week. Heather gets up then and reaches onto a top shelf, bringing down a ceramic biscuit barrel. “Try these. I made them yesterday, had a feeling you might need them.” Stiles opens the lid, and the crisp smell of ginger wafts out. “Ginger snaps, but it’s a special mix,” Heather explains.

Stiles pulls one out, and takes a tiny bite. He waits to see how his stomach reacts, but it seems the cookie meets with the baby’s approval. He consumes three in a row  before Heather gently eases the jar away from him. Stiles makes a sad sound at the loss, but she shakes her head. “The idea is for these to settle your stomach, so you can eat something decent. They’re not meant to _be_ the meal, highness.”

Stiles makes pleading eyes at her, and she relents and gives him one more.  While he’s savoring it, she makes him a chicken and salad sandwich, handing it to him with orders to “Eat.”

Stiles is surprised to find that he actually has an appetite, and he devours the sandwich in no time flat. Heather smiles at him as if he’s done something particularly clever, and then insists he finish a plate of apple slices.  Stiles feels like he’s six again, when he was ill and his mother looked after him. He basks in the unfamiliar warmth of someone taking care of him – it’s been a long time since anyone has, and he didn’t realize he missed it. “Thank you,” he says with a smile. 

“Somebody has to look after you and that baby. Now go and sleep, you have bags under your eyes that I could store potatoes in.” Heather waves her hands in a dismissive motion, and Stiles decides that yes, a nap sounds like an excellent idea.

With his stomach full and settled, he sleeps better than he has in days.  When he wakes five hours later, the container of ginger snaps has been delivered to his rooms with a note.

_Let me know when you need more – Heather._

Stiles smiles to himself, and goes to put the cookies where Chris and his chronic sweet tooth can’t find them.

* * *

 

 

Eleven weeks and four days after Stiles told Chris he was expecting, the palace sends out a royal proclamation stating that the king and his Prince consort are expecting a child. Stiles teases Chis that maybe they should to wait another week, but Chris just looks at him with pleading eyes, and Stiles is helpless to resist. He blames hormones.

His stomach is showing the slightest of curves, and it makes Chris rub his hands over the tiny bump and puff up proudly each time he catches a glimpse of it. Peter teases him, saying “Look at you, so pleased with yourself. You do realize that people have been procreating successfully for centuries prior to this, darling?”

Chris continues stroking Stiles’ belly as he says, “What’s your point?”

Stiles rolls his eyes fondly at the two idiots he married, and drinks his tea and eats his ginger biscuit.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles really didn't expect the people of Lower beacon to react to his pregnancy the way they have.

 

It’s the first Sunday of the month, the first baby day since the pregnancy was announced, and Stiles groans as he rolls out of bed. “I think my ass is _actually_ broken,” he says, nudging Peter awake – he’s the one who caused the problem, partly at least.

Peter opens one eye and gives him a satisfied smile. “You said you wanted me to take you hard, darling. I was merely following instructions. It’s not my fault you’d already let Christopher have at you twice.” He stretches his arms over his head and yawns, catlike. “Are you waking him for baby day?” he asks, nodding at Chris, who’s still snoring quietly.

Stiles shakes his head. “Not yet. We’ve got a couple of hours, and he needs the sleep. I’m going to have breakfast and soak in a bath. Everything aches.”

Peter huffs out a soft laugh. “I’m not surprised. We did play rather hard. If it’s any consolation, you’re not the only one whose ass aches.”

Stiles grins – it’s nice to know he made an impact as well.

Last night was the first time Stiles had felt well enough to even consider sex in a month, but a wave of lust had rolled over him, sudden and unexpected. When he’d crawled into Peter’s lap and whispered in his ear, Peter had been quick to drag him toward the bedroom. They’d swung past Chris’ office on the way -  Peter had poked his head in the door and said, “Sweetheart, Stiles wants to take us to bed.” Chris had dropped what he was working on immediately, striding out the door and pulling Stiles in for a kiss.

“You’re really feeling well enough, sweet thing?” he’d asked once they parted, his eyes alight with anticipation.

“Definitely” Stiles had grinned, and kissed him back, deep and filthy and _needy_. 

That first round, they never even made it to the bedroom, instead retreating into the office and locking the doors.

 

* * *

 

 Stiles pads quietly down to the kitchen and takes a seat at the table. Heather drops a kiss in the top of his head as she walks past, returning with a pot of peppermint tea.  Stiles smiles gratefully, and she ruffles his hair before pouring him a cup. She sits down opposite him. “Still feeling seedy, or getting better?” she asks, checking on him as she does every morning.

Today, for the first time in a month, Stiles has good news. “It’s much better,” he says. “I mean, I only had one cup of this tea and one ginger snap yesterday, but I still felt pretty good.” He thinks about the night before. “Really, really good,” he nods, smiling to himself.

Heather leaves him to it then, getting on with her work. Stiles sits and soaks in the bustling atmosphere for a while, and Heather brings him a tray of toast and jam to snack on. He’s just about finished when the door opens, and Chris comes in. Stiles smiles widely at his husband – he’ll never get sick of the sight of those gorgeous blue eyes. “I thought you were still sleeping?” he asks.

Chris shakes his head. “Peter started snoring.” He drops into the chair next to Stiles, and observes the teapot and tray. “Heather mothering you again?” he asks with a smile.

“Yeah. It’s kinda nice,” Stiles says, as Chris steals the last triangle of toast left on his plate. “Hey, I was enjoying that!”

Chris shrugs. “Worked up an appetite last night.” The corners of his mouth curl up into a grin. The smug expression’s wiped off his face, though, when Heather swats the back of his head lightly, saying “Were you stealing my poor boy’s breakfast? Shame on you, Highness!”  Chris looks sheepish, and Stiles smirks as he’s presented with a fresh plate of toast and jam, and Heather fusses over him a little more.

“Poor boy, my ass,” Chris mutters. He cheers up quickly enough when Heather brings him his own tray, though.

Eventually, Stiles pats his slightly rounded belly and pushes his plate away. “I think I’m done.” He stands and goes to leave, before turning back and tapping Heather on the shoulder, handing her a small jar. “I almost forgot. You mentioned you were having shoulder pain yesterday? Rub this on, it’ll help,” he says quietly. He’s imbued the paste with enough magic that it will relax the muscles and relieve the pain, while healing the injury.

Heather leans up and pecks his cheek. “You’re my good boy, Stiles,” she says with a smile. It dawns on Stiles that he’s been summarily adopted without any say in the matter, but he’s not complaining, not when he gets  spoiled and cossetted and  gets to see his husband, _the King,_ being scolded on his behalf.

He goes and soaks in the bath until his fingers are wrinkly and his aches have mainly disappeared, and then puts on the robes he keeps just for today. When he goes to tie them, he notes that they don’t quite fit around his middle as well as they did last month. He doesn’t really mind, though. Chris is waiting for him, and they head down to the courtyard.

Stiles notices that there are quite a few more people than he was expecting – it’s February, and for whatever reason, February has a low birth rate. It’s then that he sees that a good percentage of the crowd seem to be clutching small packages, not babies.  He moves forward to the head of the line, and takes the first newborn, kissing his forehead and blessing him before turning to hug the mother, as he normally does. Instead of hugging him though, she presses a parcel into his hands. “For the baby, highness,” she says nervously. Stiles opens the gift, and finds three sets of hand knitted baby booties. “I know you don’t like shoes, highness, but your little one might get chilly feet,” she explains.

Stiles’ face breaks into a wide smile. “Chris! Baby things!” he exclaims, delighted. He hands the tiny items to Chris, and pulls the woman in for a hug. She blushes, and wishes him well. Stiles feels a warm glow, and turns to the next set of parents.  After he blesses their twin girls, they also hand him a gift. This time it’s a lace nightgown, which the woman informs him she made herself when Stiles oohs and aahs over the intricate stitching. “You helped me catch pregnant, highness. This is my thanks,” she tells him quietly.

Stiles hugs her close, and has to blink once or twice. He glances at Chris, and sees his king staring at the handmade items, holding them carefully as though they’re spun from gold.  Chris thanks the woman profusely, and she tells him that Stiles deserves to be spoiled, after all the help he’s given others.

By the time they get to the fifth baby, Chris has to send someone to fetch a basket. It seems that every woman in Lower Beacon has something for them, or rather for _Stiles_ , and in the end they decide to bless the babies first, and then Stiles sits down at one of the outdoor tables and opens everything at once.

There are knitted hats and booties, bibs with tiny crowns embroidered on them, nightgowns and swaddling cloths and crocheted rugs, and they’re all addressed to _Stiles._ As Stiles works his way through the pile, he has to stop and wipe his eyes a few times. He gives a wet sniff, saying “Hormones,” in a choked-off voice, and the ladies all _aaaw_ at them when Chris leans down and kisses the top of his head and wraps an arm around him.  

By the time all the gifts are opened Stiles is crying freely. “You’re all so kind. Why?” he asks.

One of the older ladies steps forward – Stiles recognizes her, had helped her out last year when she couldn’t hold a pregnancy. She’s balancing a small child on her hip and she hands him a handkerchief. She echoes what others have been saying. “You’ve helped us, and now we want to do something nice in return.” She presses a small parcel into Stiles’ hand and says, ”That one’s for you, highness.” Stiles opens it to find a jar of what looks like cocoa butter. He knows immediately what it’s for, and grins, saying “Perfect. I’ll start using it immediately.”

Chris looks at the jar, and asks, “What’s it for, sweetheart?”

The woman says, “It’s a special blend to stop stretch marks, your highness. The prince needs to massage it into his belly every morning and every night.” She hesitates, and then says, “I’m sure you could help.”  She blushes, possibly shocked at her own boldness in saying such a thing to the _King._ Stiles sees her husband elbow her in the side and whisper at her nervously.

Chris though, throws back his head, laughing. “I’m sure I could manage it,” he agrees with a wide smile. Stiles knows damn well that before the day’s out Chris will have latched onto the excuse to touch his stomach some more. He looks at the jar, at the basket of gifts, and the crowd of parents around him, all smiling at him fondly.

“Thank you all so much.“ His voice hitches as he says, “My mother passed when I was young. I’m not used to being taken care of, not like this. I wasn’t expecting it.” He dabs at his eyes with the handkerchief and hears the ladies _aaaw_ again.

He feels Chris’ arm around his shoulders, pulling him out of the chair, and then he’s being hugged and petted from all sides, and he’s still crying but he’s grinning as well, because he really didn’t see this coming, isn’t sure he even deserves it.

He sees that Chris is getting his fair share of hugs, and also a good number of hearty handshakes and “well done, highness,” from the husbands, and Stiles sees his chest puff up a little more with each one. He knows Chris is impossibly proud of himself, and it warms his heart to see his husband so happy.

Just then Stiles’ stomach gives a loud growl, and suddenly he’s being urged to “ _Go Stiles, eat something, you’re eating for two now,”_ from all sides, and he dimly notes that they’ve been sitting here opening gifts for an hour and a half. They bid the crowds goodbye, and head back inside, Chris carrying the basket that’s filled to overflowing with good wishes in the shape of baby clothing.

They go up to their rooms, where they show Peter their bounty. “They made all this, just for our baby,” Stiles marvels. “They’re so happy for us.”

Peter just looks amused. “Well of course they are, sweetheart. Did you not know they love you?”  His fingers brush gently over the tiny clothing. “I suspect this child will have enough clothing for the first year of their life  by the time they make an appearance.”

Stiles flops back into a chair. “I need food, and then I need a nap. All this emotion is exhausting.”

“I’ll send for lunch, you relax, sweet thing,” Chris tells him.

Stiles nods happily, and after they’ve eaten, he goes to lie down. He manages to sneak in a power nap, and when he wakes, he feels refreshed enough that he toys with the idea of taking one of his husbands back to bed.

Possibly both of them. As if he can read his thoughts, Chris picks up the jar of cocoa butter. “If you like, Peter and I could rub this in.”

Peter raises a brow. “What is it and where am I rubbing it? Regardless, yes please.”

Stiles laughs at the hopeful expression on Peter’s face. “It’s for on my belly. But I mean, you’re welcome to rub it pretty much everywhere.” He smirks as he adds, “I hear it’s great for easing friction.”

Peter’s expression turns hungry at that. “So, we can cover you in this and see what happens?”

Stiles snorts. “You know what will happen. I’m counting on it happening. I’d like it to happen more than once, if you two can manage it.”

Chris runs his fingers lightly across the back of Stiles’ neck making him shiver, his deep voice purring out, “Oh baby, we can make it happen for you, as often as you like.”

Stiles hums happily as he echoes Peter’s earlier sentiment. “Yes, please.”

 

* * *

 

The cocoa butter’s soft and silky against Stiles’ skin, and he finds the filthiest sounds slipping from his mouth as Peter and Chris take turns massaging it into him. “Listen to you, and we’ve barely started,” Peter teases.  He smooths his hand up Stiles’ chest and rubs a thumb over his nipple, drawing out a soft moan.

Stiles presses up into the touch. His nipples are tight and full, and the slightest pressure makes him squirm in all the best ways. Peter obligingly rubs his thumb across the nub again, and then leans down and latches on, sucking firmly. Stiles whimpers at the sensation, and Chris lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah baby, you feel that?”  His hands are still rubbing over Stiles’ belly, but he leans in and suckles on the other side, and Stiles _keens._

His chest is on fire, and every pull and drag of their mouths on him goes straight to his cock, making it leak and twitch uncontrollably. He’s going to come just from this, he’s sure of it. Chris slides a slippery hand down and wraps it around Stiles’ cock, stroking him as he continues to suck at his nipples relentlessly. Stiles can feel his release building, his hips rolling up into Chris’ hand. When Peter starts to tug at his chest using his teeth, it sends a shockwave rippling through Stiles’ body and he’s helpless to stop it as his orgasm overtakes him. He arches his back as he comes, covering his belly and Chris’ hand.

Peter lifts his head then, wearing a wicked grin. “Oh my, you _are_ a needy little thing today, aren’t you? Would you like more?”  Stiles nods, panting and breathless. It’s like there’s heat and electricity beneath his skin, surging through him, making him _want,_ and it seems that Peter can sense it somehow. Or, Stiles thinks dimly, maybe it’s the fact that he’s already half-hard again. He’s not sure why he needs this suddenly, and he doesn’t care. He just knows that he does.

Peter’s taken him in hand and is stroking him slowly, teasing him until he’s fully hard, plump and erect and dripping. “What would you like, baby? My mouth? I could blow you while Chris fucks you, if you want. Or would you like me inside you?” Stiles doesn’t know, can’t choose. He just _wants_ , that’s as much as he knows.

“Hey, baby.” He hears Chris’ voice, like gravel on velvet, right in his ear, and that just makes him even more desperate. “Gonna tell us what you need, or shall we decide for you?”  

Peter’s hand continues to stroke up and down, slow and steady and maddeningly good, and Chris runs a slick finger between his legs and presses it against his ass. Stiles moans softly, and Chris hums. “Sounds like you need something in there, sweet thing. Gonna open up for me, let me fill you?”

Something that might be a _please_ escapes Stiles’ mouth, he’s not sure. Peter’s still stroking him, still licking and teasing his chest, and then Chris is sliding a  single thick finger in and out of him, pressing in deeper every time. Stiles squirms at the sensation, managing to get out a breathless, “More?”

Chris chuckles, rich and deep, and adds another finger. Peter moves up to kiss Stiles, swallowing his moans and gasps, and stroking, stroking, stroking. “I want to taste you, darling,” Peter says when their mouths part. He shuffles down the bed and licks at Stiles’ belly, cleaning up the come there, before his mouth is on Stiles’ cock, hot and  wet and so, so good. He teases Stiles expertly with his tongue until Stiles can’t even think any more, hips bucking up into the warmth. Peter takes him even deeper, and Stiles tugs at his hair in warning. He lets out  a breathless sound as he pulls Peter up to kiss him. He can taste himself, salty and hot on Peter’s tongue. His whole body is singing, and he feels an ache, deep inside. He knows what he wants, now. When he pulls back, he says, ”Want you both. You in my cunt, and Chris in my ass.” Peter’s eyes widen, but he nods.

Chris’ fingers stutter a little in their smooth movements at hearing that, but he soon recovers and continues to stretch Stiles out, brushing his prostate every few passes and making Stiles writhe against the bed. When he can’t take any more teasing, Stiles gasps out “ 'm ready.”  Peter lays on the bed, and Stiles settles himself on top of him, kissing him frantically and fisting his hair. He rubs his erection against Peter’s, grinding down and moaning, lost in a frenzy of need. It’s not long before he moves himself forwards a little, enough that the head of Peter’s cock is dragging through the wetness Stiles is producing. He moves back and forth a few times, before raising his hips and sinking down, taking Peter inside in one smooth slide.

Peter groans loudly, and so does Stiles. He stays still for a moment, adjusting to the sensation. Peter’s not small, and it’s a stretch to take him normally, but when Stiles is on top he feels every inch even more. Peter puts his hands on Stiles’ hips and starts to guide him, moving him up and down, setting a gentle pace. Stiles’ cunt is wet , and his cock is leaking freely. He closes his eyes, so he can concentrate on the pleasure washing through him, making pleased sounds. Peter pulls him down onto himself so he’s fully seated and holds him in place,  and he says “Lean forwards, sweetheart. Let Christopher into that sweet ass of yours.”

Stiles lowers himself so he’s lying above Peter, and he feels a warm, steadying hand on the small of his back. “You ready, baby?” Chris asks, and Stiles nods, quivering with anticipation. This isn’t something they’ve ever done before, but he trusts his husbands to make it good, take care of him. He feels Chris slide two fingers in and out of him, adding more cocoa butter and stretching his rim further. Stiles gasps in pleasure, and presses back into Chris’ hand.

Chris chuckles lowly, and says, ”Patience, baby. Gonna give you what you need now.” Without further ado he removes his fingers and then Stiles can feel him sliding in carefully. He groans at the feeling of fullness, at the stretch and the slight burn. It’s perfect.

“All right, sweetheart?” Peter asks, and Stiles realizes he’s trembling. It’s so much, he’s stuffed so full, stretched so wide, cock and cunt dripping, aching with the need to come. He gives a shaky nod, and they both start to move. They work out a rhythm, sliding in and out as Stiles lies between them and lets himself be rocked by the motion of their bodies. Chris pulls out at Peter sinks in, and there’s a litany of grunts and groans and the odd muttered _fuck_ as they start to thrust harder. Stiles encourages them with little moans and gasps of pleasure, beyond words.

It’s good, so good, Chris nailing his prostate on every thrust, Peter stretching him out and brushing against the sensitive nerves, his cock rubbing against Peter’s stomach, and Stiles feels like he’s flying. Chris slams in particularly hard, fucks him just right, and Stiles is sent hurtling over the edge into orgasm. He wails as he comes, and he can feel his magic clamouring to escape, can’t contain it. There’s the sharp smell of ozone in the air, and Stiles knows his tattoos are glowing, can feel his eyes flash. Something like electricity passes through him, and his body clenches tight. Chris gives a hoarse shout as he slams into Stiles and comes suddenly, driven over the edge by his magic. Peter’s not far behind, thrusting up once, twice, before he orgasms, hands gripping Stiles so tightly he knows there will be bruises on his hips later.

Stiles is shaking as he comes down from his high, but Chris is warm against his back, murmuring, “Shhh, baby, we’ve got you,” in his ear, kissing his neck, running a hand down his side. Peter’s whispering praises to him between tiny soft kisses, hands running in soothing circles where moments before they were gripping tight, and Stiles goes boneless under their combined touch. He can feel them still inside him, and it’s too much. He lets out a pitiful mewl, and they must understand, because Chris eases out of him carefully, rolling off to one side, and Stiles is able to move enough to roll over as Peter slips out of him. He slumps against the mattress and closes his eyes just for a second as his husbands bracket him, hands petting his skin, warm and reassuring.

 

* * *

 

“Sweetheart?” Stiles reluctantly opens one eye. He sees Peter looking at him, a concerned expression on his face.

“Uh?” he manages.

Peter smiles, the worried look disappearing to be replaced by amusement. “There you are, darling. You went away for a little while.”

Stiles opens his other eye. “Did I? I thought I just closed my eyes for a second.”

Chris wraps an arm firmly round him from behind. “Baby, I think you kinda passed out for a minute there.”

Stiles is fully awake now, and he’s aware that the come dripping between his legs is cooling, so he’s definitely been out of it longer than he thought. His whole body s relaxed though, and the burning need he had is gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of wellbeing. “I feel good, I’m fine,” he reassures them.

“Are you sure? When you came, we could feel your power…” Chris says hesitantly. Stiles knows Chris is concerned, so he shuffles around in his arms, so he can see them both, and beams at them.

“You two actually managed to fuck the magic out of me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this relaxed in my entire life. We are definitely doing that again.” He sighs contentedly, and sees the relief flit over Chris’ face. "If you want?" he adds, suddenly struck by the thought that maybe letting his magic go and then passing out was too much for his husbands to cope with.

Chris hums as he buries his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck. “Baby, just say the word, and we’ll do it all again, anytime.”

Peter leans over and kisses Stiles softly on the cheek. “Sweetheart, that was amazing. If this is what it’s going to be like for the next six months, I’m going to be a very happy man. Exhausted, but happy.”  Stiles laughs, and lets his men smother him in kisses and hugs, knowing they’re reassuring themselves that he really is OK.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Stiles is five and a half months gone, he’s bid a sad farewell to his waistline. Where there was lean muscle before, now there’s a distinct barrel shaped curve.  His pregnancy’s progressing smoothly, which is hardly surprising. His magic is keeping his body in balance, and apart from the morning sickness, he’s avoided any other problems.

His sex drive waxes and wanes – some days he’s happy to just curl up in bed and sleep without a thought for anything more, and other days, he wakes with a low level arousal simmering in him down to his very bones. On those days, it will take barely anything for the arousal to come roaring to the fore, and he’ll be overcome with a desire that can’t be quenched by anything other than multiple orgasms and something filling him. Last week, Chris had come back from riding his horse and been stripping out of his shirt, and the sight of his muscled chest, damp with sweat, had Stiles making little sounds of want as he watched. Chris had looked over, caught his expression, and grinned, stripping out of the rest of his clothing and advancing on Stiles with a predatory grin. “Somethin’ you want, baby?”

Stiles had almost come from the sound of his voice alone, only able to nod dumbly as desire coursed through his veins. Chris had pulled him in for a rough kiss before backing them over to the bed. He’d proceeded to bury his face between Stiles’ thighs and tease him until he sobbed with pleasure, and then fucked him thoroughly until the sobbing turned into gasps as Stiles was filled the way he needed.

And yesterday, all Peter had done was stretch his arms over his head in a yawn, exposing a strip of skin on his belly, but it was enough that Stiles had pulled the shirt off over his head before Peter had time to blink, and pinned him to the daybed with an expectant look. Peter had the presence of mind to insist that Stiles go and lock the door first, before he’d happily let Stiles ride him right there in his office.

It’s baby day, and his robes won’t close at all – there’s a two inch gap at the front. He gives a disgruntled huff, before deciding fuck it, he’s leaving them open. With the way he normally dresses, most of the population have seen his exposed abs at some stage or another, so he figures they can cope with the sight of his belly until he has new robes made. It’s a surprise when he steps out of the bedroom to find Peter and Chris both waiting for him, fully dressed. “I thought I’d join you. It’s occurred to me that I should actually spend some time with infants, since we’re having one of our own shortly,” Peter says lightly.

Stiles lets out a shuddery breath. “Do you know how much I love you right now?” Peter’s brow furrows in confusion, and Stiles tries to explain. “It’s just, the way you’re so good with all this. Accepting this baby as yours.”

Peter’s expression clears. “Sweetheart, it _is_ mine, in all the ways that matter. My husband is having a child. My other husband sired it. But I’ll be here to raise it, be part of it’s life.” Stiles can feel tears threatening, something that’s been happening more and more lately. He takes a deep breath, then another, fighting to control himself. If he goes downstairs looking like he’s been crying, he’ll have to fend off all sorts of questions from his concerned mothers. Peter must see that he’s struggling, because he expertly flips the mood. “Honestly Stiles, I’ve released inside Christopher so often over the years, I’m sure I’ve seeped into his very bones. We’re practically the same person now.”

“To be fair, I think that goes both ways, baby,” Chris says, nudging Peter with his elbow.

“Of course, highness. You and I are just swimming in each other’s seed,” Peter agrees. He smirks, and Stiles bursts out laughing.

“God, that’s an image I didn’t need,” he says, snorting. But the tears are averted for now, and he feels a little calmer. He snickers all the way down the stairs.

Like last month and the month before, the gifts continue to roll in. Peter’s appearance causes a stir – he’s the least visible of the royal family, preferring to conduct his business behind closed doors, so he’s greeted with enthusiasm. Stiles can tell Peter’s surprised when the first parent asks if he’d like to hold their little girl, and he accepts her gingerly, because she’s a little out of sorts, grizzling and squirming, but when he holds her in his arms, and hums “There now, little one, no need to make such a fuss,” the child settles immediately and gazes up at him with wide eyes. Peter smiles down at the baby, and starts rocking her instinctively. She makes a happy noise, and blows a spit bubble.

Stiles stares, stunned. “Peter, since when are you good with babies?”

Peter looks up from where he’s stroking a finger softly down the child’s cheek. “What? I’m not, particularly.” The baby gurgles happily, making a liar out of him.

The baby’s mother says, “Actually, highness, she’s a fussy one. She never settles like that.” As if to prove the point, she takes the child back from Peter and is rewarded with a wail.

Stiles grins, and says, “You’ve got a fan, Uncle Peter.” He has another infant in his arms, a baby boy, and after he finishes blessing the child he hands him off to Peter as well. Peter instinctively props the child against his shoulder, arms firmly holding him in place, and the child burrows against him, snuffling contentedly. Peter pats his back in a soothing rhythm, and starts to sway his hips without realizing it. Stiles watches for a moment, just enjoying the image.

Eventually though, he taps Peter on the shoulder that’s not covered with baby, and says, “Don’t monopolize him, give Chris a turn.” Peter starts a little, but hands the baby over. His hands aren’t empty for long though. The first child is still grizzling and squalling, and the mother says, “Excuse me highness, but if you don’t mind?” Her tone is pleading as she holds the baby out.

If Stiles didn’t know Peter as well as he does, he’d almost be fooled by his show of reluctance, but he sees the tiny crinkles appear at the corner of his eyes that only show up when Peter’s truly happy, and knows it’s a façade. Peter takes the child, and once again she settles without complaint. ”Peter,” he says softly. ”Take her over there and sit for a while till she settles, since you seem to have the magic touch.” Peter nods, and settles himself away from the crowd, cradling the baby against his chest, where she coos contentedly.

Stiles turns to see Chris watching Peter, a tender look on his face. “Do you know, I don’t think Peter’s ever held a baby before in his life?” he says softly. “But look at him. He’s a natural.”

Stiles grins. “Good. He can be the one who gets up in the middle of the night.”

Once Peter’s little girl has settled to sleep and been returned to her parents, he joins them again, and Stiles makes sure that he hands the babies on to both Peter and Chris equally after he’s blessed them. “My husbands both need the practice, because I’m surely not raising this child on my own,” he jokes, and the mothers all nod in agreement.

“I’m sure all three of you will do fine,” a woman reassures them, and Stiles sees the pleased little smile that sneaks onto Peter’s face at his inclusion in the statement.

Baby day has stretched on far longer than normal, mainly because of Peter’s presence. The parents all want him to hold their baby, all want a chance to see the elusive third monarch with the reputation for ruthlessness made weak by a child in his arms. “You’re going to ruin my reputation, you know,” Peter tells the child that he’s rocking gently. “I’m meant to be terribly intimidating.” The baby looks up at him and gurgles happily, and Peter sighs in defeat. “That’s not helping at all, darling. You could look a little worried at least,” he murmurs softly, and keeps rocking her.

By the time that babies have been blessed and the gifts opened, and the last infant pried from Peter’s hands, it’s late in the afternoon and Stiles is exhausted. “I need food,” he whines. He’s aware he’s edging into cranky/hungry territory, and it’s confirmed for him when Peter uses his most calming tones, what Chris calls his _Stiles tamer_ voice.

“I’m sure Heather has a tray ready for you, she usually does after baby day,” Peter soothes, already steering Stiles towards the kitchens.

Heather does indeed have a tray ready, for all three of them. “How did it go today?” she asks.

Stiles waves a hand vaguely, mouth full as he shovels the chicken pie into his mouth. Once he’s swallowed, he says, “Peter came with us. He’s good with babies, turns out.”

“Is he, now?” Heather says. She looks at Peter for a minute before nodding. “That doesn’t surprise me. Babes like security, and the Prince does have a certain authority to him. They probably feel safe when he holds them.”

Stiles shrugs. “All I know is babies love him, which is good news for me.” He looks at his empty plate and sighs, because when did he eat all that? Heather just smiles indulgently and brings him another serving of pie.

 

* * *

 

 Stiles is just nudging the six month mark when he bursts into Chris’ office, shirtless and grinning.

“Chris, the baby moved!” he says excitedly, hand on his rounded stomach.

Chris looks up. “Really? Come here, show me!” He pushes back his desk chair to make room, and Stiles comes over and stands in front of him in the vee of his legs.

“I don’t know if you can feel it yet.” He takes both Chris’ hands and presses them against his stomach. Chris waits patiently, and at first there’s nothing, but then Stiles huffs impatiently, saying "Hang on, I’ll help.” He lays his hands flat over Chris’ mumbling under his breath, and Chris feels the skin beneath his palms warming to his touch. It glows a soft golden hue, and then Chris feels it – a tiny movement. He looks on, amazed, as the golden patch of skin ripples beneath his palm and there’s another small tap.

He can’t contain the excited gasp, and turns to Stiles, beaming. “It’s moving! There’s a baby in there and it’s moving, Stiles!” he laughs delightedly, and Stiles laughs with him. Stiles can only sustain the magic for so long, but Chris gets to feel a series of five tiny kicks and bumps before the glow fades. There’s a lump in his throat when he takes his hand away. “We’re having a baby,” he says, amazed all over again.

Stiles puts a hand under Chris’ chin and tilts his head up so he’s looking him in the eye. “We’re having a _son_ ,” he corrects gently. Chris can’t quite comprehend it for a moment, but then the words hit home.

“What?” he asks, unable to form a full sentence.

“We’re having a son, love,” Stiles says, his lips tilting up into a smile. “There’s a spell to find out, and you know I’m impatient.” He looks uncertain for a moment, before asking “You don’t mind that I ruined the surprise, do you?”

Chris shakes his head, still smiling widely. “No, baby, I don’t mind. I would have been happy with either, but a son…” His voice catches, and Stiles kisses him softly.

They hold each other for a moment, Chris resting his head against Stiles' stomach, before Stiles suggests, “Lets go and see if that husband of ours has any brilliant suggestions for a boy’s name, shall we? I bet he already has a list.”

Chris looks sheepish as he produces a piece of paper from in his desk. “He does. So do I.”

Stiles laughs. “Me too. Let’s hope like hell one of them matches.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is insatiable, Deaton says something unforgivable, and the boys get their baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK first off, I apologize because this sucker is loooooong, but stuff just ...kept happening...  
> Secondly, greatest thanks to Twisted Mind for flailing and squealing at me to keep me going.  
> Thirdly, if there are any glaring errors, it's because I'm back on the good pain drugs, so show a little mercy and pretend it's good okay?  
> Okay.

 

Chris never thought that being a father to be could be so heady, yet here he is, staring dreamily at Stiles’ belly as he massages in a handful of cocoa butter, fingers drifting in soft circles over Stiles’ ever increasing girth. He dimly hears Peter snicker at him, before nudging him. “Admiring your handiwork again, sweetheart?” Peter teases.

“So, I’m proud. Let me be proud,” Chris says without heat. Peter can laugh all he wants, Chris is going to enjoy every minute of this. The belly beneath his hand moves as the baby turns, and Chris continues to stare, transfixed. “He’s active today,” he comments.

“Uh huh. He’s growing, too. Gonna be tall like his daddies, I can tell,” Stiles replies with a smile. Pregnancy obviously agrees with him, because he’s glowing. His magic seems to be growing stronger, if that’s possible, and he’s thriving. He’s still aroused most of the time - he hadn't been kidding about the insatiable bit. Peter and Chris are more than happy to give him what he needs, and they’ve taken to rising late, because Stiles starts every day by waking one of them with his mouth around their cock, or by rolling them onto their back and easing down carefully. Some mornings he wakes them both and begs to be filled completely.

It’s not uncommon for him to wander into Chris or Peter’s office in the afternoon and perch in his husband’s lap, grinding down unsubtly until whoever it is gets the hint. After he’s convinced them to come back to bed and taken his pleasure with them, he normally has a catnap, which means that when it’s time to turn in for the night he’s not tired, and will start running his hands over the nearest body, curling up close and pressing against them, making little breathy sounds of want. Chris doesn’t mind that more often than not it’s Peter who burrows under the blankets to satisfy Stiles, because in all honesty, he struggles to keep up.  Peter and Chris are happily exhausted, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.  

And they do get to catch up on their sleep a couple of nights a week. Somewhere around the six month mark, Stiles apparently became part of a secret society. At least, that’s what Chris thinks has happened. Suddenly, there’s  started to be a knock at their door after supper, and Heather will take Stiles away with barely a backward glance at Chris and Peter, saying “Come with me, child.”

Chris doesn’t know what they do, but Stiles is always relaxed and happy when he comes back next morning. He’d asked Stiles, who just winked and said, “Secret baby business,” and that was the end of the conversation.

Peter followed them once to Stiles’ old rooms, because it’s in his nature to need to know what’s going on in his palace.  As he describes it to Chris later, “I could hear them laughing all the way down the corridor, but when I knocked they all went quiet. I went in, and there was Stiles, laid out on the bed. He had one woman rubbing his calves, another rubbing his feet, and a third one was massaging his scalp. He had that completely contented look on his face that he gets, and he didn’t even open his eyes, just told me he was busy. Not one of the women said a word, they just stared at me. It was most unsettling.” He squirms at the memory.

“So what did you do?” Chris asks, entertained at seeing Peter so ill at ease.

“I left, of course. I could hear them laughing again not ten seconds later, and I’m fairly certain it was at my expense.”

“So you still don’t know what they’re doing?” Peter shakes his head, and Chris can tell he’s frustrated.

Chris pulls him in for a kiss. “Why don’t I just ask Heather tomorrow? She’ll tell me. In the meantime, we have this whole big bed to ourselves, and all night to enjoy it. Want me to love you a little?”

“Always,” Peter agrees. Chris makes the most of the opportunity, taking his time, making it sweet for them, making love soft and slow and gentle in a way they rarely do these days. Peter sighs with pleasure, and relaxes into Chris’ arms.

Chris does ask Heather the next day, though. “Heather, can you please tell me what you’re doing with my husband twice a week?” he asks. “Whatever it is, he’s enjoying it, but Peter and I are just curious.”

Heather smiles and sits next to him, placing a hand on his. “I don’t know what you’d call it, really. I suppose we’re teaching him about childbearing.”

Chris looks confused at that. ”Stiles knows about pregnancy and birth, though. It’s part of what he does as Mage.”

“Sweet prince, _knowing_ isn’t the same as _doing._ Stiles doesn’t have a mother to teach him all the little things that nobody tells you. So we take him, and we get him nice and relaxed, and we talk to him, teach him how to relax his hips nice and wide, how he’ll need to breathe through the birth, and we talk to him about how to stretch himself out for when the baby comes, that sort of thing.”

Chris nods slowly. “So, you’re taking care of him? Mothering him?”

“Well, somebody needs to,” Heather says briskly.  As soon as the words leave her, she slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She takes it away a second later to stammer out, “Not that I’m saying you and the prince aren’t taking care of Stiles, highness.”

Chris puts his other hand on the one she has on top of his and says, “Heather, it’s fine. I understand what you mean. Stiles needs to be indulged, and Peter and I can’t do what you women do.”

She lets out a rush of air. “Exactly. Being with child hasn’t slowed Stiles down at all, so we make sure he gets to unwind. We want him well cared for.”

Chris  gives Heather a reassuring smile. “We all want that. Now tell me, is there anything Peter and I could be doing to help him get ready?”

He has a very informative conversation with Heather in his office after breakfast, and learns more about what’s involved in preparing for childbirth than he ever wanted to know.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, that day, Peter comes to Chris’ office. “Did you ask Heather?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“And did she tell you?”

Chris can tell that Peter’s burning with curiosity and decides to tease him – it’s not often that he knows something Peter doesn’t. “Yes.”

“Well, are you going to tell _me_?” Peter demands.

“Maybe.”  Chris enjoys the look of disbelief that passes over Peter’s face.

"What do you mean, maybe? I need to know!" Peter frowns and Chris grins - he likes this game.

“Of course, if you really want to know, you’re the spymaster – you could always torture it out of me?” he suggests with a smirk.

Peter’s expression brightens at the suggestion. “I could,” he says at last. He stalks over to where Chris is standing and continues advancing forwards, until Chris is backed against the wall. He puts his hands on either side of Chris’ head, bracketing him in as he says, “I could do things to you that would make you _beg_.”

Chris grins. “I like it when you make me beg, baby.”

“Oh, I know,” Peter breathes into his ear, before dragging Chris into the bedroom.

Chris makes Peter work for it, but after an hour of being edged and teased, he finally begs, and gives up the information so that Peter will let him come.

Peter’s delighted with himself, and insufferable for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles is just past seven months when he comes down to the kitchen shirtless, pants pulled low under the curve of his belly, and Heather shakes her head at him. “Look at you, Stiles. You look like an urchin, child.”

Stiles looks down at himself, surprised. Okay, maybe the pants are getting a little more tattered than he’d like, but they’re the only thing that fits. He just hasn’t got round to going to the tailor, that’s all. “It’s…not that bad?”

Heather flaps a hand at him, indicating he should sit, and brings him his breakfast. Now that he’s in his last trimester, Stiles is hungry _all the time_ , and Heather feeds him accordingly. There’s a platter filled with scrambled eggs and smoked meats and a mountain of buttered toast, because she knows that he’s been ravenous lately _._

The next morning, while he’s eating breakfast, Heather places a bundle of folded clothing on the table.

“When you’re done, try these on,” she instructs.  Stiles is curious, and quickly finishes eating. He unfolds the first item, and finds a replica of his favorite linen shirt. This one though, has been made with his baby bump in mind, and looks like it might actually go around him.  He opens the next item to find a set of pants with some sort of panel around the top that will allow them to pull over his stomach. He flicks quickly through the dozen or so items and finds more of the same.

Stiles looks up at Heather, questioning. “What are these?”

She rolls her eyes. “What do they look like, child? They’re for you till wear till the young one’s born. I know nothing fits you, and I know you’ll never willingly go to the tailor, so I had these made.”

Stiles slips a shirt on. The fabric is gentle against his skin, and falls around his middle in soft folds. He grins, rubbing his hands up and down the sleeves. “Thank you. You’re right, it seemed too hard, so I’ve been putting it off,” he admits.

“That’s because you’re hopeless,” she laughs.

 

* * *

 

 

When Stiles comes into the bedroom that night, Peter’s holding a bottle of almond oil.  “I’ve been told, Stiles, that it will help with the birth if we soften certain muscles in advance. So I thought that tonight while Christopher massages the butter into your belly, I’d help stretch your pretty little kitty out,” he says with a wicked grin.

Stiles’ eyes narrow. “How do you know that? Who have you been talking to?”

Peter just waggles the bottle. “Please. A good spy never reveals his sources. Now, shall we? I’m offering out of the goodness of my heart, you understand.”

Which is how Stiles finds himself propped up against the headboard naked, while one of his husbands rubs cocoa butter into his stomach to prevent stretch marks, and the other carefully slides two fingers inside and applies a light downwards pressure, stretching his perineum lightly. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, and just enjoys the pampering. The stretch feels odd at first, but Peter’s breathtakingly gentle and it starts to feel more like foreplay. After a few minutes, he feels Peter pull his hand away, and makes a tiny discontented noise. “Shh, darling. Only a few minutes every night, that’s all you need,” Peter says, fingers back and moving in a very different motion this time.

“You could be stretching other things,” Stiles says hopefully.

“Hmmm,” Peter says. “You know, you do smell delicious, like cocoa and almonds. It’s almost like you’re a tasty little treat.”  Peter leans down and licks a stripe up Stiles’ half-hard cock. Chris can see where this is going, and obligingly moves off to the side so Stiles can lie down. Stiles sighs happily, and relaxes even further as Peter eats him out until his cock is throbbing and his body is open and wet. Then Peter rolls Stiles gently to his side, hitches one leg forward, and slides inside. He rolls his hips and fucks into Stiles, easing in and out in a slow, fluid motion while one hand strokes Stiles’ cock. Stiles doesn’t take long to come, and neither does Peter, and afterwards Stiles drifts off to sleep almost immediately.

Peter manages to stay awake long enough to clean them up a little, but he falls asleep quickly as well. Chris lays there and watches them both sleep, his hands tracing over Stiles’ stomach and a smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

 

Chris thinks that Stiles at nearly eight months gone is a beautiful thing. The way Stiles smiles to himself and rests his hand on his belly constantly? Beautiful. When he lets Chris help him in and out of the bath, laughing at his skewed sense of balance? Perfect. How he sprawls on the daybed and lets Chris and Peter rub his swollen ankles or suck him off, depending on what he needs ?  Beautiful, all of it.

Stiles isn’t particularly beautiful right now, though. He’s sulking, bottom lip stuck out in a pout, arms folded across his chest, and a mutinous gleam in his eye. “I won’t go. He’s an asshole and I don’t need him,” he argues.

Peter’s calm in the face of Stiles’ rebellion as he asks “So if not Deaton, who exactly _will_ examine you?  You haven’t let anyone until now, and the birth’s getting close.  And don’t you dare say you can examine yourself. I know you’re an all powerful mage, but even you can’t put your head between your legs and check if everything’s okay.”

Stiles turtles further down into his chair and shoots Peter a nasty look. “Maybe I could go outside the kingdom – “ he starts, but is cut off before he can get any further.

“Wonderful idea! Let’s send one of the princes of the realm, who’s heavily pregnant with the heir to the throne, outside the _one_ place where his safety’s guaranteed, and have him examined by a total stranger, shall we? I can’t see any problem with that plan at all!” Peter’s voice drips sarcasm, and Chris can hardly blame him. Stiles is being completely intractable. Peter’s no better, and Chris is quite frankly sick of them bickering.

“I can feel that everything’s doing exactly what it should, okay? I know my body! ” Stiles snaps.

“But we _don’t_ know your body, that’s my point! What if there’s a problem? How could we tell?“ Peter demands.

Chris finally holds up a hand for them both to stop. He says, “One exam, Stiles. That’s all we’re asking. It would make us feel better if you’d let someone check you out. I know that you feel fine, that your magic’s keeping you in tune with your body, but Peter and I don’t have that reassurance. Can’t you do this for us? We just want to see you and our baby boy well, sweetheart.” He waits a beat and adds “I’ll let you have final say on the name.”

Stiles grumbles something under his breath about manipulative assholes, and Chris pretends not to hear it as he waits for Stiles’ answer. He’s pretty sure the name will clinch it – they haven’t been able to agree on a single one. “Fine. One visit. And I get to pick the name, no objections,” Stiles finally says.

Chris hides his sigh of relief as he says “Thank you, baby. It means a lot to me.”

“To us,” Peter adds. “I’m sorry I snapped, darling. We’re neither of us used to this, and sometimes we need you to hold our hands, and maybe humor us a little.”

His comment has the desired effect, and Stiles uncurls himself and rolls his eyes, slightly mollified. “Come here, you overprotective idiot,” he says, nodding at Peter. “If I go see him, get him to tick all the boxes that I’m healthy, will you trust me that everything’s fine?”

Peter wraps himself around Stiles’ chair from behind and leans down to kiss his neck. “Of course we will. I’ll be honest, the fact you’ve had no prenantal care causes me sleepless nights sometimes.”

Stiles snorts. “You mean no _official_ prenatal care. Between Heather and the other moms, I’m the most well cared for expectant man in the kingdom.”

He has a point. He can barely leave the palace without a group of mothers falling into step with him, asking if he’s well, checking how much he’s grown, forming a small protective circle around him as he goes about his business. He’ll drift out of that group only to find himself surrounded by another one a little further down the road – it’s almost like an unofficial guard of honor. He’ll happily let the ladies fuss over him, grinning at them when they ask if he’s hit the _‘greedy stage’_ yet and telling them “Sorry ladies, what happens in the royal bedroom stays in the royal bedroom.” He’ll wait for just a second before adding, “And the royal sitting room, and the royal bathroom, and the royal offices...” to scandalised laughter.

So yes, Stiles is plenty cared for. But he agrees to go and see Deaton, just once, on the condition that he can have someone else attend him at the birth.

“Who will you have there?” Peter asks.  

“Heather, of course,” Stiles says, as if it’s obvious.” She delivered four of her grandchildren.”

“That sounds perfect, baby,” Chris tells him, and goes to send a message to Deaton telling him he’s expected at the palace the next morning.

 

* * *

 

 

The whole thing gets off to a rocky start when Deaton tells Chris and Peter they’re not allowed in the room despite Stiles asking for them to be there, and it doesn’t get any better. Chris is tempted to insist they stay, but Stiles shakes his head. “Trust me, it’s not anything you haven’t seen before, _husband,_ ” Stiles says, emphasising the word, a subtle reminder of the fact that he’s the Prince consort. “ Of course, your interest is more....recreational,” he adds with a smirk, just to see Deaton blush. Chris laughs and blows Stiles a kiss, because Deaton’s never had a sense of humor and it’s fun to see him squirm.

He and Peter wait outside while Stiles is examined, but not ten minutes after they’ve sat down Stiles comes storming out the door, fastening his robe. There are actual sparks flying from his fingertips, he’s so angry, and he’s shouting at the top of his lungs. “How _dare_ you? This child is perfect, the son of the king and I, and there was nothing unnatural about his conception!”

Chris frowns at that. Deaton comes out of the room, saying, “Conception should be a pure process, not tainted with magic by meddling youngsters who should know better. Who knows what you’ve done with your spells and your concoctions?”

 “ _Spells and concoctions?_ Listen to yourself! All I’ve done is give nature a boost, the same as I’ve been doing  for years for the people of the kingdom that you refused to help!” Stiles throws his arms up in the air, gesturing wildly.

 Deaton scoffs. “Oh, you mean the _women?_ Thanks to you, the women in this kingdom expect to be able to just have babies when they _want_ them, and worse, to be able to prevent it if they don’t! They shouldn’t have the choice!”

Stiles draws himself up to his full height, hands clenched tightly by his sides as he breathes deeply. Chris can see that he’s struggling to control both his temper and his magic, and he runs a soothing hand down his back. “Hey, we done here baby?” he asks softly.

Stiles nods, still quivering with rage and Chris wonders what the hell happened in there for him to be so upset. He nods at Deaton. “You should leave.”

Deaton raises a hand to try and protest, but Chris says, “ _Now_ ,” in a tone that brooks no argument. Deaton leaves without another word. Once he’s gone, Stiles lets out a shaky breath, and says,” I just…give me a minute, all right?”

Chris just keeps running a calming hand over Stiles’ back, and as his breathing steadies out, Peter comes over and takes Stiles’ hand. “What happened, darling? Is the baby all right?”

“Oh the baby’s _fine_ , apparently it’s me that’s an abomination,” Stiles grits out.

“What?” Peter’s voice is incredulous.

“Yeah. I get up on the bed and he starts to examine me, and it’s all going okay, well I mean, as much as it can when he’s poking around, but then he says “You’re lucky the king was still willing to accept you once he found out what you were. Not many rulers would be willing for their child to be born of an _abomination_.”

Chris hears a growl, and turns to see Peter looking absolutely murderous. “Does he not know that the both-blessed are celebrated here?” Chris asks.

Stiles snorts. “Oh, it gets better. Then he said ‘ _But I suppose the king has a blind spot when it comes to you. I’d love to know how you managed to enchant both him and the prince to think that your marriage is normal and proper._ ’ He might make all the right noises about my status, but his personal opinion’s obviously very different. And then he basically said that because we used fertility tea, the baby’s second-rate somehow, since he wasn’t conceived naturally.”

Stiles starts to shake, and Chris can tell that not only is he furious, he’s _hurt_. He gathers Stiles in his arms, holding him as close as he can around the swell of his belly, and his tone is soothing as he tells Stiles that he’s perfect, and their baby’s perfect, and there’s nothing second rate about any child of theirs, magical intervention  or not. Stiles relaxes into his hold, and in the end he sighs, ”I know none of it’s true, but it still annoys me that thinks he can go round saying those things.”

Peter watches them for a moment, and says, “Stiles, will you let me take care of this for you? I do believe the man’s forgotten his place, and it will be my pleasure to remind him of it.”

Something in his tone makes Stiles raise his head from where it’s resting on Chris’ shoulder. “What are you planning to do exactly, husband mine?“ he asks.

Chris gets a tight little smile in his face. “I’m guessing Peter’s going to visit him in his official capacity.”

Peter nods. “I am indeed. You know, implying the heir to the throne is unnaturally conceived is almost…treasonous, don’t you think?. Remind me Christopher, is the penalty for treason still death?”

“It’s never been death, and you know it.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “I know it, and you know it, but I doubt Deaton does. And he’s upset a heavily pregnant Prince regent and an extremely powerful Mage, and I think somebody needs to speak to him about exactly why he thought that was a good idea.”

Chris nods. “As king, I authorise you to take any and all measures that you deem necessary to deal with this threat.”

 “Thank you, highness. I’ll visit him tomorrow,” Peter says formally.

Peter turns to Stiles then. His tone softens as he says, “Now tell me, sweet boy, what did he say about the baby? Is everything fine?”

“Uh huh. He seemed almost disappointed, but he says I’m in perfect health, and as far as he can tell the baby is too. He tried to tell me that since it’s a royal birth he should be present, but I told him that there was no way in hell he was coming in there with me.”

“Oh, I’ll bet he loved that,” Peter comments with a smirk.

“He really wasn’t happy, but I told him by the time Heather and both of you were in the room, we wouldn’t have space for him.”

Chris’ head shoots up when he hears that. “What? I thought husbands were relegated to pacing outside?” It hasn’t even crossed his mind that he might be present at the birth, and the thought of it sends a tiny thrill racing through him. He sees that Peter’s grinning widely.

Stiles shakes his head at the pair of them. “That’s how Deaton does it. It’s not how I do it, and I’m the one giving birth. If you want to be there, you can.” He looks at Chris hopefully. “I’m hoping you will.”

Chris smiles widely. “Sweetheart, I’d be honored. I’ll even let you swear at me if you need to.“

Stiles laughs at that. He turns to Peter and asks, “And you?”

Peter hesitates. “Are you sure?”

Stiles drags Peter in close and peppers soft kisses on his face. “Yes, I’m sure. I want you both there. I might need more than one person to swear at.”

Chris has known Peter all his life, and he can read him like a book, so he knows  that Peter’s bursting to say yes.  “Peter? Be there for us?” he asks quietly.

“Of course,” Peter replies, sounding slightly choked up. Chris pretends not to notice.

 

* * *

 

 

Alan Deaton lets himself into the small house  where he lives, courtesy of his position as Royal Mage. Not that there’s been much call for his services lately, he thinks bitterly. People used to listen to him once, accept what he said as right. But then that scruffy little upstart, that _boy_ , had shown up in the kingdom, and he was frighteningly powerful.

The king, who had barely given the time of day to magic users before, suddenly became besotted, and before long it was common knowledge that the boy was warming the king’s bed. Deaton suspects that the boy must have cast an enchantment on the king and his long time companion – otherwise how can it possibly work with the three of them?

As he walks through the house, Deaton reflects on the previous day’s events. He was possibly foolish to let his distaste for the both-blessed show, but he decides that if anyone asks him about it he can just tell them that’s not what he said at all, Stiles must have misunderstood, everyone knows you can’t trust mothers to be. He can dismiss it as pregnancy hysteria.

As he walks into the kitchen, a voice says, “Alan. I’ve been waiting for you.” he freezes, just for a second, before  turning to face Peter.

“Highness,” he says pleasantly, his outer calm belying his racing heartbeat. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Peter examines his fingernails casually. “I’m here on business, actually.”

Deaton feels a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. “Did you need a spell?” he asks, affecting ignorance.

“I need you to sit down, and then I need you to listen and not speak,” Peter says, and his tone is steely.

Deaton sits.

Peter walks up and stands behind him,  looming. He doesn’t speak for a minute, letting  the tension build. Finally, he says,” As I’m sure you’re aware, my husbands and I are thrilled at the impending birth of an heir.”

Deaton swallows, and nods. “A happy event indeed.”

Peter hums, “I thought so, yes. So, you can imagine my dismay when my very pregnant husband told me that you were implying that there might be something lacking in the way our child was conceived.”

Peter places a strong hand on Deaton’s shoulder and leans down so he’s speaking right into his ear. “He said that you called him an _abomination_ ,” he hisses, and his hand tightens painfully. “He said that you told him he was wrong to use his magic to boost his chances of conception.” The hand tightens further, and Alan winces under the pressure. “He said,” Peter growls out,” That you think he has the king and I under an enchantment, and that’s the only reason Christopher married him. Would you like to explain to me exactly why you felt you could say such things to the Prince consort?”

Alan concentrates on remaining calm, breathing deeply in and out, trying not to show fear. Finally, when he feels his voice won’t betray the quiet terror curling in his gut, he says, “I’m sure Stiles misunderstood me. He’s probably a little highly strung, with his pregnancy.”

“So, you think the pregnancy is making him deranged?” Peter says quietly.

“Exactly,” Alan blurts out without thinking.

Peter’s tone is icy. “Let me get this straight. Either Stiles is telling the truth, and you’ve insulted the prince and by extension the king by questioning the rightfulness of this pregnancy, or you’ve just said that the father of the royal heir is unbalanced. Tell me, which is it?”

Deaton refuses to have Peter try and confuse him in his own home. He turns his head and looks up at Peter defiantly. “Neither. I expressed an opinion, which I stand by, that conception should be a natural process with no magical intervention. And what I said is true – Stiles _is_ lucky that the king didn’t reject him for hiding what he was all that time! And I’m not sure he _doesn’t_ have you both bewitched!”

Peter’s blue eyes bore into his own, and Alan holds his gaze for as long as he can, but Peter never wavers and in the end he has to look away. “You’re skirting dangerously close to treason, saying that Stiles isn’t worthy of being married to the king, questioning the validity of our relationship. You need to have a  little more respect for the throne, Alan.”

“And _you_ need to have a little respect for my position. I’m still officially a member of the royal court, you know,” Alan snaps.

Peter raises an eyebrow at that. “That you are. As I remember, Stiles refused to work for the king in any official capacity, so you kept the role. But be that as it may, you’ve upset Stiles, and Christopher is not happy with you. He is _not happy at all._ Consider this a warning not to upset Stiles again, or there will be consequences.”  He squeezes down hard on Alan’s shoulder, digging his fingers in deep and pinching the nerves there until Alan gasps in pain.

“Tell me you understand, Alan,” he says mildly, as his fingers dig in deeper.

“Yes,” Alan gasps out.

Peter doesn’t let go. “ I beg your pardon?”

It takes Alan a moment to figure out what Peter wants. “I understand, _your highness._ ”

Peter finally lets go, and turns on his heel and walks out the door. As he leaves, he pauses to say, “I trust we won’t need to talk again, will we?”

Alan shakes his head vigorously.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Peter comes back to the palace with a rakish gleam in his eye. Stiles is already asleep, but Chris is waiting for a report, so Peter recounts his conversation in detail. Chris laughs delightedly, and drags Peter close by his lapels. “God, I love it when you’re ruthless,” he growls out, and sucks a deep bruise on the column of Peter’s throat. “Get your clothes off, now.”

“Yes, your hotness,” Peter purrs, hands already  busy unlacing his trousers. Chris strips him with unseemly haste, and prepares Peter quickly, desperate to get inside him. It’s quick and dirty and rough, the way they both like it.  Stiles lays next to them on the bed and doesn’t stir once, sleeping the sleep of the ~~dead~~ heavily pregnant.

Chris curls around Peter afterwards, running a hand casually over his chest. “Do you think he’ll listen?” he asks?

Peter considers it. “Probably not. He’s old, and set in his ways. He says he stands by his opinions.”

Chris doesn’t hesitate in his judgement. “Then he has to go.”

Peter props himself up on his elbow and looks at Chris with something like approval. “You seem very sure.”

“The man insulted Stiles, insulted our marriage, and cast aspersions on our child’s conception. We worked hard to make this pregnancy happen, and I won’t have anyone belittling that.”

Peter snorts. “Oh please, sweetheart. _We worked hard._ You make it sound like it was a trial, burying your cock in our boy every day for weeks.”

Chris shoves against Peter’s chest. “There was _chafing_ , Peter!”

Peter laughs, soft and gentle, and leans in for a kiss. “You did a marvellous job, Christopher, both of you.”

Chris  kisses him back, and when he pulls away he’s smiling. “We did, didn’t we?”

His expression grows hard. “Which is why Deaton crossed the line. Quite apart from what he said, he’s not fulfilling his role as Mage. He refuses to use his magic when it’s needed.”

“I agree, sweetheart, but you know he’ll argue with you if you ask him to step down.”

Stiles lets out a sleepy sound then, stirring a little. “Stop talking.”

“Sorry darling, we were just discussing what to do about our errant mage,” Peter soothes.  

Stiles groans, and struggles to a sitting position with Peter‘s help. “ Fine. Here’s what we do. We sack Deaton. I’ll  take on an apprentice, train them up. Six months and they’ll be ready to work with supervision.  I can take care of things in the meantime.”

“It won’t be too much, with the baby?” Chris asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “Between the three of us, I’m sure we can cope. And Deaton needs to go.”

“All right, then. You start looking for an apprentice, and I’ll dismiss Deaton,” Chris says.

Peter gets a look on his face that’s pure mischief. “I have an idea about how we can do that,” he says with a smirk.

 

* * *

 

Deaton’s surprised when three days later he receives a royal summons from the king, ordering him to present himself in the throne room the next day at noon. He frowns, trying to work out what could be important enough for the throne room – he knows the king only uses it for the most formal of occasions. His worry eases a little when he sees the note tucked into the envelope behind the official letter. It simply says _The king would like to acknowledge your long service_.

Alan smiles to himself. He’s been the mage for twenty years – perhaps by standing up to Peter the other night he’s reminded them that he’s not someone to be taken for granted,  but a man of standing, and maybe the king’s finally going to honor him.  He goes to make sure that his formal robes are clean and ready to wear the following day. It wouldn’t do to look anything less than his best.

 

* * *

 

 

Chris hates wearing his crown, and Stiles hates wearing proper clothes and footwear, but they both make the effort, and Chris has to concede, it’s worth it. Peter looks flawless as always, having fetched his and Stiles’ coronets from the treasury, and the three of them look the very picture of authority as they sit on their thrones. Or rather, they do once Peter leans over and nudges Stiles so that he sits up straight instead of leaning off to one side. Stiles pouts a little, but  does as he’s told.

Chris knows they make an intimidating sight, and the hall is filled with every member of the palace staff, all summoned to witness what’s about to take place. There’s the low buzz of conversation as people speculate why they’re here, but Chris ignores it, waiting patiently for Deaton to arrive. He frowns when he notes the man’s running late. It just confirms that he’s doing the right thing.

When Deaton finally arrives, every eye turns to follow him as he strides confidently into the hall. He comes to stand in front of the trio, bowing his head slightly and uttering “Highness.”

Chris nods in return. “Deaton, how long have you served me?” he asks.

Alan smiles brightly. “Twenty years, highness.”

“Twenty years. A long time,” Chris muses. Alan nods, still smiling.

Chris gets right to the point – he doesn’t want to draw this out, but he does want to do it publicly, so there’s no doubt as to what’s happened. “It’s come to our attention that your ideas, which were accepted twenty years ago,  are now dated, and your opinions harmful and toxic. Therefore, we’ve decided to dismiss you.”

A gasp runs around the room at the king’s words. Deaton’s mouth opens and closes as he struggles to make sense of what he’s being told, and out of the corner of his eye Chris can see both Peter and Stiles wearing a smug air, but he doesn’t dare look too closely at them – he has to bring all his authority to bear at this moment, and he doesn’t trust Stiles not distract him. So he stares at Alan, expression stony.

“What? You can’t dismiss me, you need a Mage!” Alan sputters out.

Stiles stands then, and lets his eyes blaze, and the magic that always seems to surround him these days crackles and sparks over his fingertips. “Oh, I think we’ll manage,” he says.

Peter stands as well. “You’re lucky we’re only dismissing you, after the things you said. If it was up to me, you’d be arrested for treason and imprisoned for life, but his Highness is a kinder man than I am.” The three of them take a step forward together, and Deaton steps back instinctively.

“I realize this is sudden, so I’m giving you a week to vacate the house you’re in,” Chris tells him. “We’ll need it for our new mage.”

Deaton frowns in confusion. “Won’t Stiles be the mage?”

Stiles gives an amused huff. “I think I’ll have other things to keep me busy, don’t you? Raising what you termed my _second rate child,_ the one born out of _unnatural interference_?” A collective gasp comes from the crowd at that, and Chris hears  ‘ _he did not’_   and sees a few angry glares thrown Deaton’s way. It’s all going exactly as they planned.

“I have a second announcement. His Highness the Prince consort Stiles is offering to take on an apprentice to be trained in the magical arts. The successful applicant will be expected to take on the role of Royal Mage, a position which is currently vacant,” Chris says.

“How do we apply?” someone calls, and there’s a titter at that. Chris looks over at Stiles and nods – this is his area, after all.

Stiles lowers himself down onto his throne, and rubs his belly as he does so. Chris hears the women cooing at the sight. “I’ll be available every day this week from two till four in my rooms. If anyone wants to apply, make a time with Peter to come and see me. If you have any kind of natural magical ability it would probably be better, but I’ll talk to anyone. As long as the baby behaves, “ he adds, earning himself a laugh.

Deaton’s still standing there, seemingly in shock. Chris waves a hand at him. “If I were you, I’d leave and start packing, before I let Peter change my mind about charging you with treason.”

Deaton walks out without a word, muttering angrily, but nobody pays him any mind, too busy chattering about what they’ve just witnessed, and in a few cases, shyly edging towards Stiles to ask him what, exactly, counts as magical ability.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes no time at all for word to get out about Deaton’s sacking and the opportunity to be apprenticed to Stiles. There’s a steady trickle of inquiries, but not that many – natural magical ability is rare, and Stiles ends up with just six applicants who he feels might actually be suitable.

He does have a list of questions to ask them, but mainly he lets his magic guide him – with three of them he knows immediately it won’t work, they don’t have what it takes. He’s nice enough about it, but he lets them know they’re not the one. Two of them have real potential, but  hedge around whether they can commit to working for the palace, and Stiles suspects they plan to train and then leave.

The last one seems like he might be perfect, but something in Stiles’ gut curls at the thought of it, and he’s proved right when the young man lets it slip that one of his motivations is that _all the ladies love a mage_. Stiles is a little disheartened, but he doesn’t worry too much – magic is a tricksy beast, and he has no doubt the right person is just waiting for Stiles to find them.

He waddles down to the kitchen and plops down at the kitchen table. He’s a little hungry, but he doesn’t know what he wants.  He lays his head against the table top as he calls, “Heather, what do I waaant?” plaintively.

Heather laughs, and comes over. “It depends. What does baby feel like – sweet or savory?”

Stiles thinks about it. “Both? Sweet, but not too sweet.”

Heather thinks about it for a minute, and smiles. “I have just the thing. How does banana cake with salted caramel and cream cheese frosting sound?”

Stiles sits up and makes grabby hands. “Please?”

Heather brings him a generous serve, and the sounds Stiles makes are almost indecent, he knows, but it’s _just so good_. He licks then last of the frosting off the plate and holds it out hopefully. Heather shakes her head as she takes it, but she brings him another slice. Stiles beams, telling her, “Heather, you have literally made a perfect cake. Where did you get the recipe?”

“No recipe, and I didn’t make it, Kira did. Kira!” she calls, and a dark haired girl working at the other end of the kitchen looks up. “Come and meet my Stiles,” Heather encourages.  The young woman approaches, and smiles shyly.

Stiles looks at her, and for just a second, there’s….something. A feeling, a spark. He shoots a look at Heather, but her face betrays nothing. He extends a hand. “Hey, Kira, I’m Stiles. Amazing cake, the baby approves,” he says, smiling pleasantly.

“Kira Yukimura,” she says, blushing a little. She looks at his hand, still in the air, as if she’s not sure of she’s allowed to touch. Stiles waggles his hand again, and she finally takes it and shakes. As she does, Stiles feels a definite burst of power, and his jaw drops. Kira gasps  and lets go, saying, ”Sorry, sorry, I think I just carry a lot of charge, you know?”

Stiles manages to close his mouth, and then he grins widely. “It’s fine, I promise.” He looks at her consideringly. “Do me a favor, hold my hands again, both of them this time?”  Kira looks at Heather, who nods encouragingly. Stiles takes both of Kira’s hands, closes his eyes, and breathes deep. He feels the hum of untapped power, but more than that, he feels a sense of _rightness_ , and knows he’s found his apprentice. When he opens his eyes, there are tiny sparks dancing along Kira’s fingertips, and her eyes are wide.

“What are you doing?” she gasps out.

“I’m not doing anything. That’s you.” He lets go of her hands, and turns to Heather. “Something you want to tell me about?”

Heather looks far too pleased with herself as she says, “ Everything Kira makes turns out perfectly. And I mean perfectly. It’s like she has a sixth sense guiding her. She creates whole new things without recipes – says she just _knows_ what should go into a dish. And I’ve seen her fingertips spark before now, when she thought I wasn’t looking and she needed to melt the butter a little more. So I thought maybe, if you haven’t found anyone…” 

Stiles just gives an approving nod, and turns his full attention to Kira. He notes that though she’s clearly nervous, she’s doing her best not to show it. He likes her already. “So, you have a little magic then?”

Kira nods. She finds her voice and says, “A little? It’s not really anything much.”

Stiles takes her hand again and closes his eyes. He focuses, and now that he knows what he’s looking for, he can sense the magic coursing through her very core. It’s strong, and he knows that with the right training Kira will be a formidable  mage. But more than that, he can tell that she has a kind spirit, possesses the compassion that’s needed for the job. “Tell me, Kira, how would you feel about being my apprentice?” he asks.

She goes pale, and starts to stammer. “ I  - there must be better people – I’m not –“

Stiles sees her stunned expression, and adds gently, “Hey, you can say no if you don’t want to. But I think you’d be perfect. My magic’s chosen you, and it’s rarely wrong.”

Kira bursts into tears. Stiles panics for just a moment, but then he sees that she’s smiling even as she’s crying, and she’s nodding and sniffling even as she says “Y-yes, puh-puh-lease,” between sobs.

He laughs, and puts his arms out. “I’d hug you, but you have to help me up first.”

Heather grumbles about losing her best assistant, but her smile is that of a proud parent, so Stiles doesn’t think she’s too upset. He finds out as he talks with Kira (and eats another slice of cake) that she‘d wanted to apply for the apprenticeship, but had chickened out at the last minute.

“Well, it was obviously meant to be you, otherwise how did you end up making the perfect thing for me to eat?” Stiles says, not really expecting an answer.

He’s thrilled when she replies, “Actually, I dreamed it. I dreamed the recipe, and I dreamed of you sitting here eating it, just like this.”

Stiles laughs gleefully. Kira’s going to be _so good_ at this.

* * *

 

Peter takes a childish degree of pleasure in telling Deaton he’ll have to move out sooner than expected, because the apprentice has been found.

Stiles would have gone with him just to see the look on Deaton’s face, but he’s had a last minute growth spurt, and he finds too much walking just makes his back ache and his ankles swell.  He takes to  spending his time on the day bed in Chris’ office, finally forced to slow down. Chris doesn’t mind, and Stiles will often catch Chris looking at him fondly during the day as Chris works and Stiles  naps and reads.

 Kira will be officially presented to the public in a week or so, but she’d hesitantly asked Stiles if they could wait until Heather found anther assistant, because she didn’t feel it was fair to leave her old job without notice. It’s the kind of thing that just makes Stiles even more certain of his choice.

Plus, he likes her being in the kitchen, because she’s taken to sending him random dishes that she ‘has a feeling the baby will like.’ Stiles doesn’t know about the baby, but he likes them just fine.

He brings her up one afternoon to introduce her to his husbands, and she has to take a minute to take a few deep breaths, overwhelmed at the thought of meeting the “The king, Stiles, and _Prince Peter_.”  Stiles suspects she harbors a small crush, and he can’t say he blames her – Peter’s always been a charmer, as Stiles can personally attest to.  

Chris does his best to put her at ease, and before long he’s coaxed Kira out of her shell, and his rich laugh fills the office as she tells him about the time she singed their cat because her fingers started shooting sparks. Peter joins them shortly afterwards, and he’s exactly as charming as Stiles knew he would be, but Stiles notes the way that he also skilfully extracts information about Kira’s past, her family, people she knows, effectively finding out everything he wants to know. Stiles doesn’t often get to see Peter use his spy skills, and he finds it incredibly attractive. So much so, that after an hour he has to feign exhaustion so that he can get his clever husband all to himself.

Kira’s cheeks flush pink when both Chris and Peter hug her as she leaves, and Stiles whispers in her ear, ”They like you.”  She beams at him, and bounces off down the stairs. They watch her go, and then Stiles is pulling Peter in for a rough kiss. “Watching you was so damn hot,” Stiles pants out. “Bed?”

“Of course, darling. What would you like?” it’s a serious question – Stiles’ belly has definitely reduced their options.

“Your mouth?”  Stiles asks hopefully.

“It would be my pleasure, sweet boy,” Peter purrs.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s baby day, and Stiles is running late.  Chris has gone down to tell the people waiting that Stiles will be there shortly, while Peter helps him dress. Stiles can’t find the only decent overshirt that fits him, even though he’d swear he left it hanging over the back of the chair, and for some reason Peter won’t let him just go shirtless. Instead he insists that Stiles sit while he finds him something to wear. “I know you don’t care that people see your belly, but just humor me, darling? This will be your last baby day before you have one of your own, at least be dressed for it.”

Stiles looks at the clock and huffs his impatience. He’d go down on his own but when Chris had left he’d been quite firm – “You don’t come down the stairs alone, Stiles. Let Peter help you.” So he watches and waits as Peter dithers and fusses, seemingly incapable of choosing something. It’s completely unlike him, but Stiles chalks it up to nerves about the baby – both of his husbands have become incredibly attentive and protective over the last few weeks.

Finally Peter emerges from their dressing room, holding the very garment Stiles had been searching for. “Is this what you were looking for? It was hiding at the back,” he says, offering the shirt up Stiles, who rolls his eyes as he pulls it on. He’s ready to go, but Peter insists on making sure it’s tied properly, straightening the creases, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair to make sure he looks respectable. Finally, he stands back and looks Stiles over, before nodding, satisfied.

“Do I look socially acceptable now?’ Stiles asks, the sarcasm obvious in his tone.

“Sweet boy, you look beautiful,” Peter replies, and Stiles can tell that he’s completely sincere.  Peter extends an arm, and says “Let’s go and bless the babies.” Stiles take his arm and lets Peter lead him down the stair to the courtyard.

When they get down there, Stiles stops dead as he takes in the scene before him. There are decorations, all in blue. There’s an armchair set in the middle of the courtyard like a throne, and two tables, one with food and drink, and one covered in gifts. And people- so many people. A banner saying, _Congratulations Stiles_ is draped over the archway _._ He stares for a moment, and says “What?”  

Heather steps forwards, and says” You don’t think I’d let you get away without having a baby shower, did you?”

Stiles is still dumbstruck – he hadn’t expected anything like this. ”What?” he repeats.

Heather steps forwards and draws him towards the armchair. “Your husbands wanted to arrange this for you. And since so many people wanted the chance to congratulate you, this seemed the best time to do it.” She hugs him, and then makes sure he’s settled in his chair.

Chris is standing next to Heather, beaming. Stiles points at him. “You did this?”

Chris chuckles, and says “Sure did. Peter and I wanted to spoil you, baby. I got Peter to hold you up a little so we could get everything ready.”

Stiles turns to Peter with narrowed eyes. “Did you hide my clothes? You sneaky bastard.”

Peter looks smug as he reminds Stiles, “Spymaster, darling. Sneaky bastard is practically my job description.”

Stiles can feel tears threatening, and a rush of affection for the two men he married, and the people who’ve done this for him. His voice catches as he says, “You’re all terrible. You’re going to make me cry, and I hate crying.” But he’s absolutely beaming as he says it, and nobody really takes him seriously.

 Once he’s accepted hugs and kisses from Peter and Chris, he takes a deep breath, and says, “First things first. We’re here for the babies.”

Peter’s quick to start bringing the infants to him, talking nonsense to them as he carries them over. Stiles watches him, and Peter just looks so comfortable with a baby in his arms, Stiles can’t wait to see him holding their own child.

His thought are echoed by Chris, who’s standing next to him. “He’s so good with them. Just wait till he has one of his own.”

‘Mhmm. Next time. He’ll be even more of a sap than you are, probably,” Stiles says with a smile.

There are about twenty babies in total, and Stiles holds every one of them, taking them from Peter, blessing them, cuddling them close, and handing them to Chris, who coos and fusses and clucks over them with an expression of complete adoration on his face for every single baby he’s given. He’s truly going to be hopeless as a father, thinks Stiles. Their baby’s going to be spoiled rotten.

After the babies have been blessed, the celebrations start. There’s a three tiered cake iced in blue that’s cut up and handed around, and Stiles is roped into playing foolish games involving people guessing the size of his waist using a piece of string, seeing who can identify the baby foods when blindfolded, and who can change a diaper on a cloth doll the fastest (Peter).

It’s cheesy and completely ridiculous and Stiles enjoys himself more thoroughly than he ever thought possible. He manages to get out of his chair and hugs every person who’s made the effort to be there, which is no mean feat – there are literally hundreds of well wishers. He whispers a charm for contentment over each of them as he holds them close, because he can’t help himself – he wants everyone to feel as happy as he does right now.

The use of his magic takes a toll though, and Stiles finds himself yawning widely, drained by the excitement and the busy day. Heather catches the yawn, and proceeds to announce that as much as the Prince has enjoyed himself, it’s time for his nap. People nod agreeably and start to trickle out of the courtyard, leaving Stiles feeling exhausted, but grateful.

Chris and Peter help him up the stairs, and strip him out of his clothes and tuck him up in bed. They bracket him on either side, and Chris runs his hands over Stiles’ stomach. His skin is stretched tight, his tattoos distorted by the growth of his belly, the dark ink making mysterious patterns now. “I can’t wait to meet you, little one,” Chris murmurs as his hands sweep in wide circles over the distended flesh.

“You two really are going to spoil that child, aren’t you?” Peter says, echoing Stiles’ earlier thoughts. “I can see I’ll have to be the strong one.”

Stiles nods sleepily. “You’ll be amazing as the strong one. And it will be good practice for when you have your own, next time.”

Stiles senses Peter stiffen at that. ”What ever are you talking about, next time?”

Stiles snuggles further into Peter’s arms. “Well, I was hoping you’d father the next one? I mean, I don’t want this baby to be an only child, you know the saying, heir and a spare. And I’d kinda like it to be yours?”

Peter’s silent for a moment. Stiles just waits, knowing that Peter always likes to take his time before answering, especially when it’s something big, like this. He’s always just assumed Peter would father their next child, Chris too. But he realises, belatedly, that they’ve never talked about it with Peter before now – it’s just never come up.

So he just nestles in, knowing their spymaster will reply eventually. After a few minutes, Peter kisses the back of his neck and says, ”So, do I have to drink the terrible tea? And do I get you all to myself?”

Stiles grins. “Yes, and yes.”

“Then yes, I’d be honoured to have a child with you, Stiles,” Peter tells him, and holds him just that bit tighter.

Chris hums his approval. “You’ll make pretty babies, Peter, but I bet they’ll be a handful.”

“Probably,” Peter agrees.

Between them, Stiles listens to them as they talk about what they think their children will be like, speculating on their looks and their temperament, and the low drone of their voices soon lulls him into a deep sleep.

* * *

 

 

Stiles has a week to go, and Chris has been told in no uncertain terms that he’s not allowed to ask, “Is it the baby?” anymore, because it’s the first thing out of his mouth every time Stiles groans or gasps when he moves.

To be fair, Stiles is groaning a lot, but right at this moment, it’s because he’s sitting on the floor in front of Chris cross-legged with his head down while Chris rubs his shoulders. “Uuuuunh,” he sighs out, “So good.”  Chris presses his thumbs onto a knot in Stiles’ neck and the sound Stiles makes in response is obscene.

Chris is instantly alert, but before he can open his mouth, Stiles says “That was _not_ a baby noise, that was an an _oh gods your hands are magic, and I want you to take me to bed_ noise. Help me up?” Chris does as Stiles asks, and once he has his husband on his feet he can’t help but run his hands over Stiles’ belly. It’s high and taut, the skin straining under his touch, and he feels their baby move. It still makes him smile, every time.

Stiles leans back against him for a moment, before giving him a nudge. “Bed, husband. Don’t you know you shouldn’t keep a pregnant man waiting?”

Chris chuckles, and nuzzles against Stiles’ neck. “We’re going, I promise. I was just wondering if you want to pick up Peter on the way?”

Stiles nods. ”Yes,  please. I’m not sure if I’m up to doing much, but I want to feel you both touching me. And if you decide to touch each other, well I wouldn’t mind watching.”

“That so, darlin’? Want us to put on a show for you?” Chris whispers in his ear, and Stiles nods.

Chris goes to fetch Peter, and Stiles waddles his way to the bedroom. He’d had a tiny crisis of confidence at about seven months where he was convinced Chris and Peter couldn’t possibly be attracted to him, but they’d cured him of that notion with a day and a night spent touching and worshipping his new shape, telling him everything they loved about him, and it was hard for him to feel anything but gorgeous after that. He has no hesitation in stripping out of his pants and spreading himself naked on the bed, taking his cock in hand and stroking it lazily while he waits.

Peter’s shirt is halfway off before he’s even in the bedroom door, and he hastily kicks off his trousers and crawls up the bed next to Stiles, saying, “Hello, sweet boy. I hear you need to be touched?”

“Uh huh. Want you to rub your hands all over me,” Stiles confirms.

“And then you want Christopher and I to entertain you?” Peter’s eyes are alight with anticipation. He loves putting on a show almost as much as Stiles loves to watch. Stiles doesn’t answer, instead pulling Peter close and kissing him.

They kiss softly for a while, Peter sliding his hands softly over Stiles’ body, thumbing at his nipples. Chris slips into bed behind Stiles and starts to massage his belly, and Stiles makes a pleased noise that Peter swallows straight out of his mouth. “So gorgeous, baby,” Chris murmurs, one hand slipping down to grip Stiles’ cock and start stroking.  Chris knows Stiles is sensitive all over, and he takes care to keep his touch gentle.  Stiles breaks away from Peter then to turn his head and kiss Chris.

It’s awkward, but they kiss anyway – everything seems awkward these days, it seems. Stiles turns his head back and shoves at his husbands until they get the hint and allow him to roll onto his back.  He sighs happily as he settles, and says loftily, “The prince consort decrees that you may commence touching him now.”

“Oh the prince consort does, does he?” Peter asks, before sucking a love bite into Stiles’ collarbone, right where he knows Stiles is sensitive, and earning a squeal.

Peter proceeds to lick and kiss his way down Stiles’ neck. Chris catches Peter’s eye, and after a moment of silent communication starts to attack the other side of Stiles’ throat, sucking and biting until Stiles is writhing under them. Chris starts running his fingers lightly over Stiles’ ribs, hitting all his ticklish spots, and Peter mirrors his actions on the other side, not stopping until Stiles is squirming and begging for mercy, giggling helplessly. It’s only when Stiles gasps “If you don’t stop I’ll pee!” That Chris and Peter finally relent.

Chris rumbles in Stiles’ ear, “Has the prince consort learned his lesson about telling the _king_ what to do?”

“Yes,” Stiles gasps out, still shaking with laughter. Once he catches his breath, he sighs out “You know, when I said I wanted you to touch me, that wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Chris chuckles. “Sorry baby, but you had that coming.”

“Yeah, probably,” Stiles agrees. “But now I really do have to pee.”

He struggles to sit up and lumbers off to the bathroom, and Peter and Chris make out lazily while they wait for his return. When Stiles comes back, he looks at the two of them for a minute before settling himself off to one side of their obscenely large bed, saying, “Gods, you two are hot together.”

Peter breaks away long enough to say, ”Still want that show, baby boy?”

Stiles nods vigorously. Peter goes back to kissing Chris, who tangles his hands in Peter’s hair and tugs at it, making Peter moan. “Gonna open you up , and then you’re gonna ride me, yeah?” Chris husks out.

“Yes, highness,” Peter says, because he knows Chris loves it.

Chris takes his time fingering Peter open, and Peter moans and gasps his pleasure, all whiles Stiles watches and strokes himself. Finally, Chris lays back on the bed and pulls Peter on top of him. As Peter sinks down with a deep groan, Stiles echoes him, hand moving faster. “Fuck, look at you.” It’s only seconds later that Stiles is coming all over his hand and belly, and Peter gives him a satisfied smile, even as he starts to ride Chris slowly.

Stiles watches them for a while longer, enjoying the visual of the way Peter’s muscles move under his skin, and the picture two make together, Chris’ strong hands holding Peter’s hips firmly in place as he fucks up into him. They really are gorgeous together, and Stiles knows he’s lucky to have this, to have _them_. He watches avidly as Peter throws his head back, the cords in his neck standing out in stark relief when he does so.

Chris is thrusting solidly, Peter’s making filthy sounds of pleasure, and Stiles can tell the exact second that Peter comes, recognizes the tell tale hitch in his breathing. Chris gasps as Peter tightens around him, and then he’s rolling them over, barely breaking his rhythm as he presses back into Peter hard and fast, fucking into him with wild abandon. So, maybe Chris likes it when Stiles watches as well.

It’s not long before he stills and shudders, before collapsing on top of Peter with a grunt. Peter runs his hands down the back of Chris’ neck idly for a moment before he says, “Could his royal highness possibly move his royal carcass so I can _breathe?_ ”

Stiles snickers, and Chris shuffles himself off to the side.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything’s ready. A wet nurse has been employed and is on standby, because although the both blessed can bear children, they can’t nurse them. The nursery has been furnished and decorated. The name has been chosen, although Stiles refuses to tell either Chris or Peter what it is, just saying that he promises he’s not naming the baby after himself.

All they need is the baby.

 Stiles has given up on trying to stop Chris and Peter from fussing over him, instead just submitting to their constant inquiries as to how he’s feeling, does he need anything, he looks pale, should they fetch Heather? To be fair, he’s a week past his due date, and his stomach is now hanging low, having dropped a few days previously, so they know the birth is imminent. He’s as impatient as they are, if he’s honest.

So he sits in a comfortable chair with his feet propped up and lets the pair of them go to town and satisfy their paternal instincts. Peter’s had the sheets changed in the nursery three times, called Heather up to ensure she really does know what she’s doing helping deliver this baby, and that she has a plan in case anything goes wrong, despite Stiles’ assurances that it’s all fine. Heather just pats Peter’s hands and tells him that it’s nice that he cares, but really, he needs to leave this to the experts.

Chris is more hands on, and sits massaging Stiles’ calves, helping him out of his chair if he needs it, making sure he has a steady supply of snacks and cups of tea and a good book. Stiles knows it’s the last bit of peace and quiet they’ll have for the next however long, so he does his best to just enjoy it.  

He’s reading and absently rubbing is belly when Peter comes into the room, a gleam in his eye. “Stiles, I’ve been talking to Heather about this stubborn baby of yours, and she told me something very interesting. Apparently, sex can induce labor – the sperm softens the cervix, and orgasm releases hormones. I wonder, should we try it?”

Stiles looks at Peter, and feels a low buzz of arousal. Heather’s also told him about that particular theory, although she’d confided, “It’s not necessarily effective, but it certainly doesn’t do any harm. And if nothing else, it’ll relax you.”

“Let’s do it,” he says.

Peter helps him up, and helps him onto the bed, where he kisses him long and slow. They make out until they’re both hard and panting, and then Peter rolls Stiles onto this hands and knees, and fucks into him nice and deep, taking his time and pressing in as far as he can, while Stiles encourages him with happy noises. They take their time, Stiles arching his back as much as he can, Peter grinding in every time he sinks in to the base, until finally he can feel Stiles’ cunt start to flutter around him. He reaches around and strokes Stiles’ cock, and it’s not long until Stiles comes with a soft cry. Peter’s close himself, and his hips snap forwards as he speeds up his thrusts before gripping Stiles’ hips tight as his orgasm overtakes him.

Stiles goes into labor half an hour later – they haven’t even gotten out of bed yet. Peter goes to fetch Heather with a satisfied smirk, and Stiles goes to tell Chris that he’s about to be a father. He walks into the office, hands wrapped around his belly, and says, “Hey, Daddy Argent, wanna come meet your son?”

The look of shock and then excitement that crosses Chris’ face is priceless. He scrambles out from beside the desk, asking “What? When? Where’s Heather? Where’s Peter? Are you all right?” all in a rush.

Stiles laughs, and tells him, “Settle, love. Peter’s gone to fetch Heather. He took me to bed, and I think that kickstarted the labor. I’m fine, we’ve got time.”

Chris looks dubious, but Stiles smiles reassuringly, and takes Chris’ hand and places it on his belly. “ We’ll go and set up in my old rooms, everything’s ready there, and then you can come hold my hand while we have this baby.”

 

* * *

 

 

Chris watches, awestruck, as after four of the longest hours of Chris’ life his clever, magical, wonderful husband is delivered of their son.  Heather wraps the baby boy in a blanket and hands him to Stiles, and Chris and Peter both crowd closer, eager for a first peek. Stiles wraps an arm around his son instinctively, and Chris watches as a soft expression that he’s never seen before spreads over Stiles’ face. “Hello, baby,” he whispers.

The baby squirms and squeaks, and Stiles shushes him. “I know, you want to meet your daddies.” He holds the child out to Chris. “Meet William,” he says, smiling.

“William,” Chris repeats. “I love it, baby,” It hadn’t been on any of their lists, but it fits perfectly.

“Strong protector,” Peter murmurs. “I like it.”

Chris’ hands seem too big to hold such a tiny bundle. He looks down and sees unruly dark hair, and long limbs, and a few tiny moles. “Hello baby William,” he coos, drawing the baby up to nestle against his shoulder. “You look just like your Papa, did you know that?”

The baby squawks loudly in response. Chris panics just a little. “Why is he crying?” he asks Heather, who laughs.

“Because our boy’s had a big day, that’s all. Everything’s new,” she says soothingly.

Chris lowers the squalling baby from his shoulder, unsure of what to do with him. Peter extends his arms, then. “Here, let me try,” he offers.

Chris passes him the baby, and Peter immediately settles the baby against his chest. “Hello, William. Shall we get you settled?” he asks, and whether it’s his firm grip, or soothing voice, Chris doesn’t know, but the baby’s wails die down almost instantly. ”That’s my boy, no need for a fuss, we’ll get you dressed and fed soon enough,” Peter soothes, one hand patting the baby’s back.

Stiles grins at the sight, and Peter turns around so that Chris can still see the baby’s face where he’s peeking over Peter’s shoulder. They stay like that while Heather cleans Stiles up after the birth, and then she takes the baby to clean and dress him properly. While she’s gone, Chris kisses Stiles on the cheek softly and tells him, ”He’s perfect, just like his Papa.”

Peter kisses the other cheek. “You did wonderfully, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

Stiles smiles tiredly at the pair of them. “Love you both,” he tells them. Just then Heather bring the baby back and hands him to Stiles, who immediately holds him close, kisses his forehead, and whispers a blessing for protection, contentment, health and a long life. Chris can feel the ripple of magic in the air, and Stiles’ eyes flash, just for a second. Then he kisses William again, and says, ”You’re safe now baby, can you feel it?”

William gurgles in response, eyes closing. Stiles pats the sides of the bed, and Peter and Chris both perch on the edge so they can see their son better. Once he’s properly asleep, Stiles carefully transfers him into Chris’ arms, where he continues to sleep peacefully while Chris just stares at him, dumbstruck.

He has a son.

* * *

 

 

William’s nearly three, and Chris and Stiles are walking with him in the palace gardens. He runs ahead on chubby legs, waving his hands and trying to catch the shimmering golden butterflies that Stiles has conjured to keep him amused. Stiles flicks his hand and the butterflies turn into doves, and William lets out a delighted cry of “Birdies!”

Stiles smiles at the expression on his baby boy’s face, and there’s something wistful about it, so Chris isn’t surprised when Stiles says, “He’s getting so big. I think it’s time he had a brother or sister.”

“I agree,” Chris says. He takes Stiles’ hand and kisses his knuckles. “But if that means what I think it means, then can I take you to bed, just us, before Peter hoards you like a dragon with its treasure?”

Stiles laughs at the image – it’s disturbingly accurate.  “Why don’t we take Will to see Peter, and then I’m all yours for the rest of the day?” he suggests with a wink.

Chris pulls him close and kisses him, before breathing out, ”Sounds wonderful, baby.”

 

* * *

 

the next morning, Peter enters his office to find Stiles sitting there, next to a tray containing a teapot. The tea smells vile, but vaguely familiar, and he arches a brow.

"So, William’s three next month, and Kira's finished her training and really doesn't need me to supervise her, so I was thinking - how would you feel about making a baby?"

 

Peter's eyes light up at the thought. ”I think that sounds wonderful.”

 

"I do have to warn you though," Stiles says with a grin. “There may be chafing."

 

 

 


End file.
